


Crucible

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bath Sex, Cannibalism, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Drug Use, F/M, Fingering, Food, Loss of Virginity, Minor Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Murder, Oral Sex, Sex, Spoilers, Spoilers for Season 2 finale, Spoilers for Season 3, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, Virginity, abigail is of age, consensual drug use, implied abigail/will/hannibal, mizumono compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Abigail, show me what happened.”</p><p>“No more climbing walls, Abigail.”</p><p>“No more bad dreams, Abigail.”</p><p>Abigail.</p><p>It was as if the sound of her name from his lips could pin her attention to him like a butterfly into a collection. Summon truth and security with nothing more than a glance and a collection of syllables. But most of all…</p><p>Her name from his lips brought peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leave Me My Name

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings one and all! Welcome to my first foray into the Hannigail pairing. This fic is finished, and I'm editing it and getting it beta-ed as I publish... so it will all get published!
> 
> First off, I want to make clear that at least in my fic, Abigail is 18. Everything is consensual and nothing is coerced. The age difference is quite large, but it is never Hannibal's intent to use it as leverage. Likewise, he doesn't use the fact that Abigail is still a virgin against her. Also, while there is still a certain amount of fatherly interaction between Abigail and Hannibal, this is not Daddy/Daughter kink.
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck and LawlessDragon for the beta!
> 
> The fic and chapter titles are taken from the play "The Crucible" my Arthur Miller.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave kudos and comments! I always try to respond. Enjoy!

crucible  
/ˈkruːsɪbəl/  
noun  
1\. a vessel in which substances are heated to high temperatures  
2\. the hearth at the bottom of a metallurgical furnace in which the metal collects  
3\. a severe trial or test

***

Faking her death was understandably more than a little surreal. Abigail could feel herself slipping into that same disconnected headspace that she’d experienced when she and Dr. Lecter had hidden Nick Boyle’s body. And just as before, Dr. Lecter was now explaining in clear detail what was going to have to happen next. They would fake her very gruesome death, and he would bring her to his house in Baltimore. His words provided a lulling, solid foundation for everything around her. In the hazy, withering wake of the adrenaline, she watched passively as her life was reorganized and restructured to fit the new future ahead of her. A future in hiding, with only a known serial killer for company. 

But she was strangely content with this new path. Somewhere far off in the more clear thinking part of her brain, she knew she should feel conflicted. Should be asking more questions. Obviously, someone was going to get framed for killing her. But she didn’t want to think about that. She’d rather just calmly watch her blood fill up the jar, as Dr. Lecter filled her head with all sorts of interesting little facts. It almost felt as if her mind was a curio cabinet in his house back in Baltimore that he could fill with whatever curiosities were pleasing. Somehow with Dr. Lecter she always felt at ease, cocooned in his solidness, no matter how dire the situation. He promised he would take care of her, and unlike with her father, or with Will Graham, or even with Dr. Bloom, she had no reservation about believing him, because so far he had proven trustworthy. If a little unorthodox.

Okay, a lot unorthodox. But then, what wasn’t in her world now?

Perhaps it was that they had first met when she was bleeding to death on this very kitchen floor. Abigail vividly remembered staring up at Dr. Lecter as his hand closed expertly around her throat. The whole world seemed completely panicked except for him. It actually occurred to her in her half-mad paralysis that in that moment he could just as easily strangle her as save her, though she couldn’t fathom what would drive him to do so. Couldn’t think of what would drive anyone to do such a thing. She thought about it every day now.

Or maybe it was the fact that he had guided her to find the strength to admit what she had helped her father do. Getting to the precipice was a fight. As if the path were strung with razor wire of her own making. But once she was there? Finding her way over the edge had been frightfully easy. And Dr. Lecter had held her while she cried. Stroked her hair and murmured assurances as if she wasn’t a monster.

But perhaps it was that he never once, in all their time together ever accused her of anything. Not really. Not without being willing to help her put her life back to some semblance of right afterwards. Had covered for her. Was still covering for her. It was mind boggling to think about.

But her it was her name, she knew. She might not have been able to say it in so many words, but it had always been how Dr. Lecter said her name that inspired her tacit obedience. No one said her name like he did. Not Will, or her father, or Dr. Bloom. And it wasn’t his accent. It was the weight he put into the syllables. The meaning and intent behind it.

“Abigail, show me what happened.”

“No more climbing walls, Abigail.”

“No more bad dreams, Abigail.”

Abigail.

It was as if the sound of her name from his lips could pin her attention to him like a butterfly into a collection. Summon truth and security with nothing more than a glance and a collection of handsome syllables. But most of all…

Her name from his lips brought peace.

“Blood rituals involve a symbolic death and then a rebirth.” Dr. Lecter was saying as he slid the needle into her arm. She barely felt it, and that made her wonder how often he did this, even though he wasn’t a medical doctor anymore. “As with all things in the natural world, you’ll adapt now and mutate later.”

“Evolve or die.” she commented. Her voice sounded dull and calm in her own ears.

“Even if you know the state of who you are today, you can’t predict who you’ll be tomorrow. You’re defined up to now, and not beyond.”

She felt a small frown pinch her brow as a strange thought crawled across her mind. “How would you have done it? If you were going to do it?”

“How would I have murdered you?” Dr. Lecter pouted his lips in thought for a moment. It was an expression unique to him. Most people frowned with effort when they thought. For him, thinking rarely ever seemed to be an exercise. “I would have cut your throat like your father did.” he replied after a moment’s consideration.

A small smile ghosted across her face at that. The expression felt distant. Maybe that was the blood loss. Maybe it was the honesty. No one was honest with her these days. “But you’re not my father.” she pressed.

“You accepted your father. Would it be so difficult to accept me?”

She shrewdly thought to herself that she’d have to do more than accept Dr. Lecter. One accepted eccentricities, vegetarianism, or an obsession with abstract visual art. Being a serial killer was certainly somewhat beyond that. She wouldn’t be just accepting his actions, but putting aside a moral code she had always tried, despite her father, to hold on to. “I don’t know if it would be smart.” She settled for saying. It certainly wasn’t untrue. Though it sounded like something Dr. Bloom would say.

“We don’t get wiser as we get older Abigail. But we do learn to avoid or raise a certain amount of Hell depending on which we prefer.” He sighed, satisfied that the blood was flowing as it needed to. He squared his shoulders and leveled with her. “I’ll need to collect some flesh. Not a pound. Only a piece. Something you can live without.”

She felt her stomach twist at that, but she strove and mostly succeeded in keeping her uneasiness off of her face. “You mean like a finger?

Hannibal smiled a little then, and the whole world softened with his face. “I couldn’t bear to take your fingers.” He replied gently, as if it were the most absurd idea he’d ever heard. He’d probably eaten someone’s fingers. “Not even one. They’re so lovely. And I was hoping to teach you how to play the harpsichord.” He used a single gloved finger to hook a lock of her hair over her ear, willfully betraying his plan. Abigail’s stomach did another little flip, but ultimately she decided she could live with that. Better than a finger, certainly. How hard was it to learn to play the harpsichord anyway?

Dr. Lecter checked the jar. “That’s enough for now.” he said as he bent and twisted a knob, stopping the flow. “This will approximate the amount or pressure. Blood leaves the body at a gallop and then a stumble.” When the needle was removed from her arm, and he was satisfied that the preparations were in order, he stepped close, resting his gloved hands on her knees. She could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin latex and her pants. For some reason she had expected him to be cold, like the marble statues he sometimes reminded her of. But he was warm. Very much alive, and he was smiling at her. Her father had never smiled at her like that. “Are you ready to die, Abigail?” he asked, his expression never wavering.

She felt a wicked smile cross her face. “Yes.” she replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked, “Can I push the button?”

Abigail expected to be told “no.” The answer with her dad was always no. She was too young. Too inexperienced. Too… little of whatever was needed. But Dr. Lecter smiled again, pride flickering in his inky black eyes.

“Yes.” he said, before helping her down off the counter. She was thankful for that. Thankful that when she reached for him, he steadied her with his hands at her waist because she was feeling a little light headed. That jar had a lot of her blood in it. She needed his help. But she got the distinct feeling he only gave it because she asked for it. And all she ever need do was ask. That was a new feeling for her. But he’d told her that before.

“I can help you if you ask me to.”

That was what he was doing. That’s all he’d ever done.

Dr. Lecter guided Abigail around in front of him. She took a deep, steadying breath and smoothed her clammy palms down the front of her pants before he passed her the nozzle that they would use to decorate their murder scene. He curled his other arm around her waist and leaned her back against him. Something about the moment felt secure, even as he was pulling her head back tight against his throat. She remembered her father holding her like this. But it was different. Part of a life already gone. Shed as a butterfly sheds its chrysalis. And as she painted the walls of her old life with her blood, she realized how unstable she’d felt over the past months. She’d been adrift. Unmoored. Laid naked under the scrutiny of others. Dr. Bloom. Freddie Lounds. Even Will Graham.

But Hannibal held her fast. She felt strong. Capable. And most importantly… not alone. 

As the last of her blood dribbled from the nozzle, Abigail sagged back for a breath against Hannibal’s shoulder, and he held her there, letting the moment come to rest. “Abigail Hobbs is dead.” he commented, a smile coloring his voice.

She stared down at their reflections in the largest pool of blood by her feet, and watched herself mimic the expression. “Long live Abigail Hobbs.” she replied.

***


	2. That Took Me From My Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Welcome to Chapter 2! There are no chapter specific warnings to speak of besides a little blood and creepy dream imagery.
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck and LawlessDragon for beta reading.
> 
> Kudos, feedback, and comments are always welcome! They're what I use to feed the plot bunnies!
> 
> Enjoy!

That night Abigail had a dream.

Growing up, she was accustomed to dreams of an almost liquid nature. Slippery and malleable. As if the mere act of having a thought was an influence upon reality. A physical force unto itself. One moment she would be in a forest clearing, idly thinking the trees looked like the columns of the church down the street from her house. Then with a turn of her head, she would find herself perched on the brick steps outside the sanctuary, her back leaned against one of the sturdy, white pillars.

This dream was different. Everything in this dream felt crystallized and dazzlingly real. One thing followed the next, not at her whim, but at its own unfolding, and Abigail felt irresistibly drawn along.

At first, she had come to herself while standing in the backyard of her house on an overcast day, facing the sparse woods beyond. They were gilded with their autumn finery, but a spot of brilliant blue off in the distance caught her eye, winking coyly between the trees.

She bounded across the stream that bordered the yard, and jogged into the trees, leaves rustling underfoot as she went. She found that she caught up to the flicker of blue more quickly than she’d thought she would. It was a butterfly as it turned out, flexing its iridescent wings as it perched on the trunk of one of the white-barked trees. She slowed to a trot and then to a careful walk, trying not to spook the creature as she sought a closer look. Abigail had never seen a butterfly like this. It fairly glowed, even without the help of bare sunlight.

When she was within about five feet, it took off, floating between the trees with surprising speed. From that distance, she glimpsed that the bright blue of its wings was shot through with streaks of brilliant crimson. A strange butterfly indeed.

She followed it, suddenly noticing that the leaves beneath her feet were churned up. She bent into a crouch, and saw with her huntress’s eye that there were two sets of cloven prints pressed into the soft earth. She looked up and saw the butterfly, now several yards away, was following the tracks, so she galloped after it.

Abigail didn’t really know how long she chased the butterfly, or how far she’d run. It mostly out paced her, even when she was in a flat out sprint. She almost caught it a few times, the red of its wings staining her fingers to the color of garnets in sunlight. The insect was almost completely crimson now. Just a few streaks of the pure blue remained.

Suddenly, she realized that in her pursuit, she had happened upon two men standing among the sparse undergrowth. Hannibal, dressed as always in his usual finery, stood some distance away, unruffled and completely unbothered by her presence. And Will, who looked very ill, stood next to him. He was soaked with sweat and shaking, and his eyes threatened to roll back into his head at any second. Much like when she had left him at the cabin in Minnesota. Hannibal had him by the cradled by the neck, and was speaking to him gently as he stared out into space with fevered, unseeing eyes.

The butterfly, with all traces of blue subsumed by red, sailed up to land on Hannibal’s shoulder. He plucked it up, almost absentmindedly, crushing its wings between his fingers, but somehow not staining them as Abigail had. Then he pressed it to the lapel of Will’s jacket, fixing it there with a long, thin pin.

And Abigail suddenly realized it wasn’t a butterfly anymore.

It was her ear, pinned like a boutonniere to the pilling fabric of Will’s jacket.

She awoke in the pitch darkness of Dr. Lecter’s guest room, sitting bolt upright in bed with a gasp of recognition.

Abigail found her way haltingly in the unfamiliar dark of Dr. Lecter’s house, feeling of the wall for support and guidance the whole way. The door to his bedroom at the end of the hall was cracked about six inches. She stepped just inside, unsure what she was even doing there. Startling a murderer in his bed was probably a terrible idea, so she paused with her hand on the cool brass of the handle.

Dr. Lecter lay there on his side looking for all the world like a normal person. His face was mottled in the scarce light that found its way in through the shaded window. The ample shadows gathered in the fine lines of his face making him look older. More… human and flawed than he ever appeared in the waking daylight. All at once Abigail was aware of the fact that he breathed, and bathed, and slept like all of God’s creatures. Though in retrospect, he would balk at that turn of phrase.

And as such, he transcended normalcy. Abigail knew this from experience. From the mundane to the extraordinary, he was always ready with a tidbit of fascinating lore, an old story, or the equipment necessary to fake a murder and frame someone who lived five states away.

And yet, what would he think of a girl frightened of herself.

She shook herself and turned to go sneak back to her room, but the floorboard under her foot betrayed her by creaking shrilly. She watched, wide-eyed as Dr. Lecter shifted in the bed, his black eyes opening and glittering in the sparse light.

“Abigail?” his voice was husky from sleep. And as always, his speaking her name held her suspended, like a fly in amber.

It took her a couple of tries to wet her mouth enough to speak. “I… couldn’t sleep.” Embarrassingly, her voice was barely more than a mousy squeak.

“Do you need something?”he asked, propping himself up on one elbow. “Perhaps another blanket?” His hair fell in a feathery fringe across his forehead, shading his eyes.

“No. I just… I had a dream.” No sooner had the words escaped her then she had a sudden and viscerally powerful recollection of memory. Of having this conversation with her mother as a small child, and her father had shooed her from the room. 

She couldn’t have been more than four. The next morning over breakfast, her father had told her that fear was something to be mastered, and he didn’t want a daughter who was weak and fearful. She would need to be the master of her fears. It had seemed cruel and dramatic at the time. Now she understood why. She remembered how her mother had sulked in the kitchen during this conversation, trying to make herself as small as possible so as not to be noticed. Had she known, even then what she married? Had her mother ever known what her husband was? Had she even suspected before the knife she had been using to slice oranges was dragged across her throat? It was the first time the question had occurred to Abigail.

She swallowed hard against the tightening knot in her throat. “I’m sorry I woke you.” She said softly as she turned to go again.

“It’s alright, Abigail.” Dr. Lecter replied with seemingly infinite gentleness. “Do you want to tell me about it? Best to talk about these things while they’re fresh. When the emotions are still in your veins.”

She frowned, but felt herself nod.

“Come. I’ll make us some tea.” He started to get up.

“No, I… I’m really sleepy.” The final word was warped by a genuine and quite cavernous yawn. “I should go back to bed. I think I was just confused when I woke up.” But she made no move to leave the doorway this time. 

“Certainly understandable.” Dr. Lecter replied softly. He thought in silence for a moment, his brow furrowed as he stared out the window. Then he flipped over and turned down the covers on the opposite side of the bed. 

Abigail was moving towards the space he’d made for her, even before he patted the pillow in invitation. She slipped into the cool sheets and drew the comforter up to her chin, wiggling her shoulders down into the soft mattress. They both settled facing each other, ample and appropriate space between them.

“Tell me about your dream, Abigail.” Dr. Lecter said. It wasn’t an order, but it was certainly not a question. More of a state of fact. Like a proof in geometry or a formula for physics. No agenda. Just structure.

Words fountained forth from Abigail’s lips about the forest and the strange butterfly, but when it came to Dr. Lecter pinning her ear to a suffering and sickly Will Graham, she faltered. She fully expected to be chastised or pressed, but there in the dark of the bedroom, Dr. Lecter’s patience seemed to stretch to the infinite. She gathered the words to herself, sorted them out, and then carefully and deliberately spoke them aloud.

She could see the silhouette of Dr. Lecter’s head move in the dark as he nodded. “And then you woke up?”

“And then I woke up.” she repeated, tugging the pillow closer to her shoulder.

Silence stretched like a lazy cat between them. Abigail watched the easy rise and fall of Dr. Lecter’s ribs under the covers. She wasn’t sure for how long. Long enough that she was caught a bit off guard when he spoke again. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had drifted off. She was certainly not far from it.

“This dream disturbed you?” he asked.

“The question it raised disturbed me.” she corrected. “It’s a question I should have already asked.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Why avoid a question at all?” she shrugged. “Because I’m anxious about the answer.”

“Very astute and self aware. That’s good.” Dr. Lecter praised. “Ask the question, then. It’s best to be in control of information, lest it be used against you.”

Abigail hesitated, pressing her lips together. “But asking questions sometimes can give people an in, you know? Lets them know what you know. Or don’t know.”

“You are clever.” He remarked, baring his teeth with genuine pride. “And more than a little paranoid. Especially for your age.”

Abigail snorted dryly. “Think about my father’s hobbies, and say that again out loud.”

Dr. Lecter huffed out a laugh through his nose. “That is fair.”

The silence returned, rolling over on the bed between them.

“I didn’t just die in that kitchen.” Abigail said, choosing her words carefully. “I was quite obviously murdered.”

Dr. Lecter hummed in assent and nodded.

“And you needed my ear.” She paused to lick her lips as her hand went to tuck a lock of hair behind the non-existent arch of her ear. “You never said what for.”

He cocked his head on his pillow, clearly waiting on her to get to the meat of her accusation.

“You’re planning on framing someone for killing me.”

“Oh. Not just anyone.”

“Will Graham. Why?” She asked the question a little more pointedly than she meant to, but she found that she didn’t regret it. Will, for all his instability and unpredictableness, had always been kind to her. Maybe not in the way she always needed, but she quailed at the thought of harm coming to him. For all their differences, they were kindred spirits in a way. Baptized in the same stream.

“I’ve framed him for quite a bit of my own work as of late. You will be a very fortuitous crowning gem for his inevitable charges.” Dr. Lecter replied as coolly as if he were commenting on the weather. “He was getting too close without fully understanding how alike he and I are. And you and him as well. I had to rearrange the chessboard as it were, to make time and room for understanding to bloom properly.”

“But… aren’t they- You can still get the chair in this state for a murder conviction, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t fear that fate for him. If it goes to trial, an insanity defense will stick. And then he will be exonerated when the time is right. I sent the hounds after him, but I can just as easily call them off to other prey. Jack Crawford is sick with desire to see these “killers” caged. He is easily manipulated.”

“He thinks I’m dead.” she breathed, sighing piteously. “ Will thinks I’m dead, and he thinks he killed me.”

“Not yet. But he will. Tomorrow most likely his companions at the FBI will begin to find the trail of evidence I’ve left for them.”

The perpetual frown on her face deepened. “He’s your friend. You would do that to your friend?”

Dr. Lecter frowned in the dark. “Will is confused about a great many things. Most of all, who he is and what he is capable of. Patience and the right pressures will bring him to himself. That is more important to me than the current state of our relationship.”

“And what about me?”

“I think the same about you.” Dr. Lecter said. 

“You want me to be like my father.”

He smiled then, broadly and baring his white teeth. “Oh no, dear girl.” He replied with a firm shake of his head. “You have the capacity and the opportunity to far surpass your father. But only if you want to.”

“I don’t know what I want.” She found she couldn’t hold his gaze, though she couldn’t name why.

“That’s okay, too. Especially at your age.” Dr. Lecter replied. “I can help you with that as well. Just as surely as I helped you skirt the FBI. Know that I won’t leave you to drown in the abyss alone, Abigail. Not any more than I would abandon Will to the same fate. I think there is wisdom in unity for all of us.”

She nodded a little as much in agreement as to feel her cheek rub against the satiny smooth pillowcase. “Will isn’t going to be hurt?”

“Not permanently.” He answered. “All transformations are painful. Yours not the least among them, owing mostly to your father’s inexpert attempts to include you in his own journey.” He reached out and brushed her hair away from the bandage on her ruined ear. Abigail unconsciously followed the motion a little, realizing belatedly that he never touched her bare skin with his fingers. “Will is going to find his way, with a little guidance from both of us. And I think before long, we will find our paths merged again.”

The moment lengthened while she deliberated. But she knew it was already decided. She had made the call when her blood arced across the air of her kitchen. She just needed a breath to accept what it was that she had truly begun. 

“Then… then okay.” she said, smiling in the dark. She felt more than saw it returned from the shadow before her. Felt his teeth bared against the dark. Dr. Lecter reached out and covered her hand on the pillow with his own, a steady warmth and pressure that made drowsiness return like a flood to drag her senses under. It was the last sensation she was aware of until sunlight and the smell of coffee roused her in the morning.

***


	3. Run the Devil Bowlegged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! This chapter is a little early to make up for the fact that the next one may be a little late. I've spent the last week flat on my back with the flu, and next week is tech week at the local ballet company so I'll be totally swamped until the show closes. But who knows? I might find time to get some editing done.
> 
> No warnings on this chapter to speak of. There's a few notes at the end regarding some little details of this chapter that are sort of personal touches.
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and your lovely comments. I'm glad y'all are enjoying my little Hannigail adventure. Much love!

After a week in hiding, and after Will Graham had been arrested for the murders of at least four people, Dr. Lecter moved Abigail from his house in Baltimore to a seaside cabin perched precariously on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic.

Well. He had called it a cabin. To Abigail, the drafty, bi-level shack where she and her father had stayed on hunting trips was a cabin. This place was as much a mansion as Dr. Lecter’s home in Baltimore, and possibly even more lavish. Calling it a cabin was like calling the Everglades a puddle. 

“Worried I’ll run away and get myself spotted in Baltimore?” she had petulantly asked when he told her his plans.

“Not at all. You’re a smart girl, and you know it’s in your best interests to remain hidden.” he had replied. “I plan on doing some entertaining in the coming weeks, and my associates at the FBI are inquisitive sorts and thus prone to wander. I don’t want them to stumble upon you upstairs. And it would be cruel of me to keep you cooped up there.”

She figured that was certainly fair. It wasn’t like he was stashing her in some dingy Motel Six. And truthfully, this place was more suited to Abigail’s sensibilities. Dr. Lecter’s house in the city had felt plush and dark, and a little cramped with all the books and art lining the walls. This “cabin” felt open and inviting, with its back wall made entirely of plate glass, and vaulted ceilings that seemed more suited to a cathedral than a seaside getaway. As if it were the physical embodiment of the growing space Dr. Lecter had told her about.

“So what are the rules while I’m in hiding?” she asked after being given the grand tour of her new home away from home away from… well...

“Rules?” he asked, inclining his head with the lilt of his voice.

“Yeah. Like… don’t leave the house. Don’t get on the internet. Stuff like that.”

“Well, you won’t have a car and it’s at least sixty miles to anywhere, so without a significant amount of determination, you won’t get far if you decide to leave.” he answered. “But no. No rules, as you put it beyond your own common sense. I’ll be sure you’re well supplied. I’m afraid I don’t have a television, but you’ll have full unfettered access to the internet. I trust your judgement. ”

“That’s a lot of trust to place in me.” she remarked blandly as she lazily paced the length of the picture window.

“As I said, you know what’s at stake.” he replied flatly. “My reputation and freedom aside, you have your own to consider. Jack Crawford would love nothing more than to hang you in your father’s place for his crimes.”

“They were my crimes, too.” she corrected tartly.

“They were. And I’m glad you’re willing to own them so directly now.”

Her brow creased sharply. “You are?”

“Yes. I hope this place will give you the space and resources to sort through what your father made you do. And what you would like to do in light of that. You can always talk to me if you so choose, but sometimes I find introspection to be the greatest counsel of all.” He said, moving to stand beside her. “Ultimately, what matters in reference to the situation at hand is that you know that your own freedom and future is at stake.”

“And Will’s isn’t?” she retorted. “He is innocent. Completely blameless, and yet he’s locked up facing murder charges. My murder among them. And here I am, an admitted accessory to multiple murders and I not only am free but am… here!” she gestured wildly to the spacious room.

“You assumed yours would be the only sacrifice to fuel our collective transformation. Will’s fate is balanced on a knife’s edge. This is true, and you played no small part in suspending him there.” Dr. Lecter admitted. “But this path he is on, though it be dark, is the only path that will have us all together as we should be in the end.”

“You mean… you, me, and Will. Like… a family.”

“The violence that threads our lives aside, the three of us are not so different.” He remarked, coming to join her by the window and staring out at the slate gray sky. “We are all intelligent. Self-Aware. Practical. Capable, through some means or another, of a certain amount of emotional resistance to the world around us. And, most importantly, we care about each other a great deal. Don’t you think that binds us more tightly together than any bond of blood?”

Abigail frowned as she thought. Her mind flew immediately to her parents. How… distant they always were from her. Disinterested sometimes. Only interested in her interest in their affairs. Especially her father. She hadn’t liked hunting. Even before he started using her to bait his true quarry. He had insisted on it, rather than indulging her in any other activity that struck her fancy.

“I guess you’re right.” she answered, a little dreamily. “Does this mean family dinners and a curfew? Having to make sure the boys I want to date pass inspection. God help them...” she let a snide smile tickle across her lips.

Hannibal gave a burst of genuine laughter at the prospect. “You’re practically a grown woman, so I doubt any of that is needful. Unless you want it to be” he said, reaching one arm out and beckoning her to his side. She came with only a hint of hesitation, not from discomfort but because she’d never really had anyone do this for her. She wound her arms around his waist, feeling the solid muscle beneath the layers of his suit, built over the years by hauling bodies without help no doubt. And yet even with that thought echoing in her mind, Dr. Lecter felt safe. Safer than her father. Safer than Will Graham. Safer than anything.

“It is these transitionary periods of life when family is the most important.” he went on when she had settled her head on his shoulder. “And in your case, it’s this time that you feel driven to go out and build a family of your own.”

“You mean get married.”

“It doesn’t have to be as narrow as that.” Hannibal lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Families can be built in so many ways. Not just from blood and vows. So long as the people care for each other, and provide each other an environment that encourages stability, growth, and happiness, I would argue that is a family.”

Abigail gave a considering nod. “I can’t disagree with that.”

“Come.” Hannibal pressed a kiss on the part of her hair. “One should never philosophize on an empty stomach. There is an excellent farmer’s market about an hour from here. We should make it just as they are opening for the afternoon.”

***

The farmer’s market was in a huge open field set back from the main road about half a mile. Rows of colorful tents and dusty trucks lined the gravel pathways hawking all sorts of farm-stand fare.

“I’ll take care of your necessities for the time being.” Dr. Lecter told her as he searched for the nearest parking spot. “This market is open every weekend, starting in late March and continuing well into November. I’ll come up and take you each Saturday. Just email me a list of whatever you need by Friday morning and whatever we can’t procure here, I’ll bring with me.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He replied as they pulled into a parking space.

“I forgot to ask if you knew how to cook.” Hannibal remarked as they exited the car and headed off towards the considerable line of stalls with their coats bundled tightly around them. “You’ll be on your own during the week.”

“I can cook a little. Nothing fancy like you. I make a mean grilled cheese.” she grinned up at him and he returned the smile with great fondness.

“Well. I’m not an expert on all American culinary customs, but Will once told me that one cannot have a grilled cheese sandwich without also having tomato soup. Especially considering this weather.” he squinted up at the still-overcast sky.

“I’m guessing you won’t stand for it coming from a can.”

“Oh goodness no.” he replied with greatly feigned disbelief. “We’ll get the ingredients here, and I’ll teach you to make the soup tonight. A bisque to be exact. And there’s an excellent local cheese vendor here as well, so I’ll leave the cheese selection to you.”

She gave a smile so broad that her nose wrinkled.

They wandered the corridor of stalls together. Their first pass was to take the lay of the land and have a late lunch of samples. Early berries, some fresh bread, and some pickles steeped in a spicy brine. Everyone seemed to be proffering something new and delicious to try. 

Then they made a second round, stopping first for the cheese and some free-range eggs. And around the next bend they picked up some bread, local honey, a bucket of tart early strawberries that Abigail declared were unlikely to actually survive the trip to the cabin, and some canned tomatoes from the pickle vendor for dinner that night.

Particularly noteworthy was the aforementioned cheese stand. Not only were their products excellent and diverse, but the young man giving out the samples was exceptionally handsome, and he took an instant shine to Abigail. He had made sure she got a second sample when she stopped by again to make a purchase. And his fingers lingered on hers when he passed her the bag. She felt her cheeks color a little, and she did her best to hide it, but to no avail.

“It seems you have an admirer, Abigail.” Dr. Lecter commented as they neared the car. “That young man at the dairy stall couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

She replied only with a sheepish shrug. She wasn’t disused to attention like that. She was just not used to being able to think about doing anything about it. Even now it just seemed easier to brush it off and not dwell on it. So that’s what she did.

“How come you never call me Abby?” she redirected.

If her sudden evasion bothered Dr. Lecter, he didn’t show it. “Would you prefer I call you by Abby?”

“I’m not asking out of preference. Everyone has taken to calling me Abby at one point or another without asking.”

“And so you ask now.” Dr. Lecter cocked his head. “Why is that?”

“Just seemed strange is all.”

“Do you like that nickname?”

“Honestly, not really. I’ve just given up on trying to correct people.” She shrugged. “I don’t really like nicknames at all. Especially cutesy ones like Abby. It makes me sound like a little girl.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I don’t feel like I should be anymore.” she sighed. “The boy at the cheese stand certainly wasn’t looking at me like I was a little girl.”

“I don’t disagree.” he replied sagely. Abigail was left to wonder what exactly it was that he was neglecting to disagree with.

***

Of course, the soup Dr. Lecter made was better than anything out of a can by far. And Abigail was pleased that there was still a whole pot left over for her to dig into for the rest of the week. Even though she had helped, she wasn’t sure if she could repeat the recipe by herself. It was a lot of complicated steps to absorb all at once.

Abigail managed some self restraint on the ride back to the cabin, and all the strawberries hadn’t been consumed. So she retrieved the survivors out of the fridge as she watched Dr. Lecter pull the cover off the piano.

“I hope it’s still in tune.” he mused, bending carefully at the waist and crawling his fingers across the keys.

“If it is, will you play for me?”

“Well, of course.” Dr. Lecter replied. “Any requests?”

“I… honestly don’t know much about classical music. Not exactly in my family background.” She paused, pressing her mouth into a thin, thoughtful line. “But it is now… I guess.”

“It certainly is.” He agreed before he pouted his lips in deliberation. Then he sat down smartly at the keyboard, taking a moment to adjust the bench and his posture before he draped his fingers across the keys. He paused there for a breath, his eyes distant and the barest hint of a smile pulling at his wide mouth, before he let the weight of his hands fall.

The music was sweet. Lilting and lovely in a way that made Abigail want to spin about the room like she remembered doing as a little girl when she’d wanted to take dance classes. But its beauty made the pit of her stomach ache with… something. Longing. Sadness. Like she was remembering something shining and lovely, but the memory was long faded and dulled at the edges. 

She had intended to applaud when he was done, but something about it didn’t feel right. 

“It’s beautiful. What’s it called?” she asked instead.

“It’s the first movement of a set of pieces called Kinderszenen and it’s by Robert Schumann.” Dr. Lecter replied, turning on the bench to face her.

“What does Kin-ter-...” the unfamiliar word mauled itself on her tongue, so she stopped and looked at Dr. Lecter helplessly.

“Kinderszenen.” he repeated with a careful clarity that avoided being condescending. “It’s German. Tell me what the word sounds like in English.”

Her brow crumpled as she thought. “Kinder… like… kindergarten?”

“Yes indeed. Also a German word borrowed by English.”

“It’s the first year of school... when you’re a little kid. So ‘kinder’ is something… something to do with children?”

“If you want to translate directly, ‘Kindergarten’ means ‘child garden.’ And likewise ‘Kinderszenen’ means ‘childhood scenes.’ The composer, now an adult, is remembering things from his childhood. And more specifically, the movement I played for you is called, “Von fremden Ländern und Menschen.” “Of Foreign Lands and Peoples.” About a child who is lazily dreaming of what the people of the far off East must be like.”

Abigail couldn’t repress a smile. “I’ve done my share of that.” she said. “I’ve never been out of the US. Never even been west of the Rockies.”

Dr. Lecter gave his characteristic considering pout again. “Well, we shall remedy the former certainly. Perhaps you should consider learning a bit more German.” he gloried for a moment in the surprised look on her face.

“Germany? You want to take me to Germany?”

“Or perhaps Austria.” he replied with a farcically nonchalant shrug. “Unless you’d prefer something else.”

She huffed out an amazed laugh and then took a breath, her bright blue eyes focused somewhere off in the middle distance over the Atlantic. “If we can go to Europe, I want to see the Basilica dei Frari in Venice.” she spouted suddenly.

Dr. Lecter’s face spread in a pleased but clearly surprised smile. “That’s oddly specific. May I ask why?”

Abigail sank down onto the bench beside him and passed him one of the last two strawberries. “My… my mom subscribed to a lot of travel magazines. I don’t know why. My father never liked to travel, and he would never let her go anywhere on her own… Anyway, when she was done with them, I would cut out the articles and pictures of all the crazy beautiful places I wanted to go. And… I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, and it’s probably nothing like I remember or I guess… imagine. But the article said that music sounds really amazing there. I just… I want to hear that. And see it.”

“Then we will go.” he replied simply.

“Have you been?”

“No, but I know of it. It’s not a terribly well known landmark, but none the less, by all accounts its reputation is not undeserved. And there are many other amazing sights in Venice as well.”

“It’s probably nothing like what I imagine.” Abigail sighed with a sag in her shoulders. She fiddled absently with the stem of her strawberry.

Dr. Lecter gave an elegant shrug. “Does the first movement of Kinderszenen sound anything like the music of Eastern Asia?”

She shook her head.

“Does that make the fantasy or the music any less beautiful?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Then have your fantasy. And I will show you the real thing. And then you will have both.” He kissed her on the top of the head. “And then I will take both you and Will to Florence so I can show you some of my favorite sights as well. So in the meantime, you should learn Italian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the piano piece that Hannibal plays for Abigail, an excellent performance of it by Vladimir Horowitz can be found at the link below. The movement in the fic is the first one. (If you're a fan of the movie Milo and Otis, you'll recognize it instantly.)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yibf6QNjgGU
> 
> Also, the Frari in Venice is a real place! I and both my beta readers sang there several years back, and there's a reason I hyped its acoustics. It was almost otherworldly to sing there.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. A Sense for Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it?” he asked calmly, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
> 
> “I haven’t even kissed you yet.” she reached up with a shaking hand to touch his cheek. Wildly, she half expected his cheekbones to cut her fingers.
> 
> He cocked his head, pressing his face lightly into her touch. “Does that seem wrong to you?”
> 
> “No just… out of order.” she quavered. “Is… isn’t it?”
> 
> “Kissing can be far more intimate than this. Than making love even. Depending on the circumstance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I managed to post on time in the middle of tech week!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! It is NSFW, just so you're aware.
> 
> Many thanks to all who have been reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. Your feedback and love gives me life. I'm so glad you're enjoying my little story!

Abigail and Hannibal began a routine following that first weekend. She would spend the weekdays alone at the cabin, working on her Italian, painstakingly practicing the piano, and plowing through her Netflix cue. Each weekend, Hannibal would come up to stay with her, take her shopping at the local farmer’s market, and check her progress on their musical and linguistic adventures.

At first, Abigail had thought she might go crazy with boredom and isolation. Admittedly, the first few days were tough. It was still too cold to really spend much time outside, especially with the unrelenting sea breeze that cut through even the warmest clothes. The cabin was deathly quiet during the day, even with Netflix or Spotify playing. But by night the wind slammed up the cliff face to rattle every door, window and loose board on the house. Hannibal had left his cell phone number with her, but he had never indicated if this was for emergencies or just if she wanted someone to talk to, so she shied away from reaching out. This was her time to find herself. Though for the first few days, all she found were the new episodes of “Hell’s Kitchen” on Netflix.

But she found that she settled into the solitude surprisingly quickly. Especially given that before now, she had rarely ever been alone in her life. Her mother had been a stay at home mom, and so even if her dad was out of town working, she hadn’t ever been left to her own devices. She couldn’t remember having a baby sitter even once as a child. 

After those first few uncomfortable days, the solitude began to suit her, and made Dr. Lecter’s weekend visits all the sweeter.

“I noticed your admirer from the dairy stall last week remembered you.” Dr. Lecter remarked blithely as they drove back from the farmer’s market. The young man had snuck a small wedge of a new kind of beer aged cheddar into her bag, winking at her as he did so. She’d seen it and so had Dr. Lecter, but apparently no one else had.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard you mention a significant other of any sort. Past or present.” Dr. Lecter said with a thoughtful tilt of his head.

“Couldn’t really have a boyfriend.” she answered. “Not with my father.”

“Kept potential suitors run off, did he?”

“Oh yes.” she nodded fervently. “Or rather, I kept them run off. For their own sakes. I didn’t even go to senior prom.”

“No?”

“Nope.” she replied smartly. “I um… had a campus visit up at Minnesota State. And then we went hunting.”

“Ah.” he nodded. “And I take it you aren’t interested in women.”

She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Never gave it much thought, honestly. Never… never really gave much of any of it any thought.”

“Is that lack of opportunity or lack of interest?”

“If I’m being honest, some of both. I wasn’t given much opportunity by my father, and I wasn’t interested in endangering anyone. I’m not the sort that focuses on what I can’t have.”

“But you are interested in the young man at the market?”

“He’s handsome enough, but same problem. I don’t think I could entangle him in all of this.” she replied thoughtfully. “Hardly seems fair.”

“How do you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, let’s face it.” She said flatly. “The likelihood of him being a fellow serial killer or having an empathy disorder to exploit is low. So he’s either going to find out who we are and one of us has to kill him. Or, and I think this is the more likely scenario, he’s going to hurt me somehow and it will be a race to see which of us kills him first.”

Despite the fact that he knew she was deadly serious, Dr. Lecter actually laughed. “That is very true.”

“But no. To answer your question, it’s not purely a lack of interest. It’s just… honestly, it’s lack of opportunity. And an unwillingness to drag anyone else into my mess. I didn’t have many friends for the same reason.”

“That is certainly understandable.” He replied as they turned off the paved road to head up to the cliff. “I could probably stand to learn a thing or two from that approach. My list of acquaintances occasionally becomes… unwieldy.”

Abigail tried very hard not to think about what that meant.

***

After they came back from the market, Dr. Lecter returned rather pointedly to the subject of relationships.

“I’m sorry but I feel compelled to ask.” he said as they unpacked their grocery bags. “You’re a virgin, then?”

“That would be correct.” she replied with a humorless smirk. “Known to no one but myself.”

“And you know yourself well, I take it. At least in that way?”

She blinked once inquisitively, but answered the question as candidly as possible since she didn’t see the harm. They had certainly discussed stranger things. “Well, since I figured that I wasn’t exactly dating material, I’d better not be shy.”

“Then in that way you’re probably better off than some of your peers.” he remarked, passing her a cup of coffee from the French press that had steeped while they worked. “I assume you didn’t try to procure any sort of stimulation for yourself.”

“You mean porn or toys?”

“Both.”

“The latter, no. I tried…” Abigail cut herself off with a brisk shake of her head. “God, you’re being forward.” 

“And you’re still answering my questions.” he replied with a small smile as they both sank down onto the couch. “Would you like to change the subject?”

“Well, no not if you don’t want to.”

“Then, continue if you would please.”

“I tried… y’know with my fingers inside? But it felt weird. And it hurt. So I kind of… I don’t know. Anything like that makes me say yikes.” she gave a little shudder and shook her head. “And as for porn… my parents kept an eye on my computer. But there’s always Harlequin at the library. Certainly not the best stuff in the world but y’know. Good for ideas.”

“Ideas for fantasies.” he pressed.

“Yeah. Never thought I’d get the opportunity to separate fantasy from reality, so what was the harm?” 

“No more harm than entertaining your fantasies about the Frari in Venice before I show it to you in person.” Hannibal answered, giving her his most neutral and non-threatening smile.

Abigail blinked hard as her brain threatened to grind to a halt. “Wait. Are you volunteering? Is that where this is going?”

“I wouldn’t want to presume.” he replied calmly.

“So you are?” she set her coffee down, fixing him a hard look.

Dr. Lecter seemed utterly nonplussed. “I only seek to make myself available to you. If it is intimate knowledge you crave, I am willing to give it to you, just as I have given you knowledge of the Italian language or taught you how to choose strawberries at the farmer’s market. But it is your decision, as are all things involving your self-discovery while you’re here.”

“Just like that?” She asked, arching her brow in suspicion.

“Just like that.”

“What… how… how do you want to do this? Assuming for a minute that I’m considering it.” she added hastily.

The corner of Dr. Lecter’s mouth curled at that. “However is beneficial for you.” he answered simply.

“I hope no one ever complains to me about “the talk” with their parents.” Abigail said with a dry laugh as she rubbed her temples. “I have a feeling this is the most unorthodox family conversation in the history of the world.”

“I don’t disagree. Unless you count the conversation where I helped you fake your own murder.”

“That’s fair.” she huffed. “I’m pretty sure nothing about anything is orthodox anymore. But you haven’t really answered my question. How do you want to do this? Or better yet, how do you think we should do it?”

Dr. Lecter gave his characteristic thoughtful pout and considered the question for a moment. Then he took a slow breath, crossing his legs to face her more fully. “Tell me how you touch yourself.”

She had to swallow twice to wet her mouth enough to form words. “Wow. You are being forward.”

He pulled a disapproving frown. “Not forward. Frank. To the point. What I’m specifically not being is coy. You wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“You don’t flirt?”

“I certainly can. Just never with anyone I truly respect and admire. Flirtation is baiting. And it’s coercive. It suggests an unevenness of standing.”

“You don’t think we’re uneven now?”

Dr. Lecter cocked his head in thought. “You are innocent of certain things, obviously, and only because of shrewd avoidance. Unevenness of experience should never be confused for unevenness of intelligence.”

Abigail inclined her head in agreement with his assessment but said nothing.

“But now it is you who is avoiding the question.” Dr. Lecter pressed on, face implacable and unreadable. “Tell me how you touch yourself.”

She thought for a moment, her brows pinching with consideration as she weighed her options. Ultimately, curiosity won out. “I… I probably use a lighter touch than someone else might. I start with little circles, sometimes just through my underwear.”

“Why do you think your touch is light?”

“Just… the way that sex is described.” she shrugged. “Lots of thrusting and pulling. And it’s not that I don’t think I’d be into that… it’s just… I’m afraid of it hurting. And then I won’t want to try it again. Sort of stupid, I know.”

“That’s a valid worry, Abigail, and you’re not alone in it.”

“I know.” she sighed. “Still seems silly though.”

“It’s not.” When she snorted at him he placed his hand on her shoulder. “To fear harm to yourself.... intentional or otherwise is a normal and healthy thing. And people frequently rush their first time. Especially young women, often in an effort to please their partner. To not be perceived boring or seem skittish.”

“And… you wouldn’t rush me. Hypothetically.” she added hastily.

“No, you would have my word.” he replied solemnly. “And if this arrangement is amenable to you, I assure you that you have no need to rush for my sake. I will be patient and only give you what you ask for. I will not be offended if you decide at any point it isn’t what you need and want to stop altogether.”

Abigail nodded, her brow still knit with a considering frown. Then she heaved a great sigh and she tunneled her way under Dr. Lecter’s arm, curling herself against the solidness of his chest. If the move surprised him, he didn’t betray it, and instead he settled her shoulders back against his ribs draping his hand down over her stomach.

“Is this an invitation?” he asked, a small smile in his words.

“It is if you want it to be.” She replied, unable to look back at him. She wanted to curl in on herself, but more than that, she wanted to pull him around her when she did.

Silence stretched between them again, and neither of them moved.

“Right. You don’t flirt.” Abigail huffed out, speaking mostly to herself. Then she took a deep breath and pulled his arms tighter around her waist. “Yes. It’s an invitation if you’re really interested. And I just didn’t want to sit so far away from you if this is what we’re going to talk about.”

She felt Dr. Lecter smile though she was still facing away from him. His fingers, which rested against the plane of her stomach began winding in slow concentric circles that began to tease lower and lower across the fabric of her sweater.

“Tell me more, then. About how you like to be touched.” He said softly.

She pressed her face against the soft cashmere of his sweater and tried to focus. Her head swam with embarrassment. Especially at the fact that every little shift of her hips served to remind her that she was growing wetter by the minute even though he was just barely touching her. He could probably smell it, and that did nothing to quell her shame… or her arousal.

“I…” she paused and took a steadying breath. Just because she was literally a blushing virgin didn’t mean she had to act like one. “I like to move my fingers in circles. Just… just around the outside. It takes awhile for me to… y’know. Have an orgasm.”

“So you’ve brought yourself to climax then?” he asked.

She nodded, biting her lip. “It takes some work and I kind of have to be in the mood to be able to do it. Y’know. Really relaxed.”

“That is not uncommon. Do you think you could achieve it now?”

“With you watching?” she asked, craning her head back to look up at him. He nodded, making her bite her lip again. “I could try.” she offered scrunching up her shoulders against the heavy blush blooming up her neck.

“Please.” he replied, snugging her body closer to his.

She took a deep breath, feeling her ribs shudder against his arm before she slid her hand down over the curve of her hipbone to press into the damp spot forming on her leggings. She almost couldn’t even register the feeling of her fingers because she couldn’t stop staring up at Hannibal. He was watching her as he might watch a bird at the window. His head cocked so his hair fell in a soft curtain over his eyes and his expression at once serene and delighted.

Hannibal… she couldn’t think of him as Dr. Lecter any more… not after this.

“This feels awkward.” she said, turning to hide her face against the cashmere again.

“I imagine you’re not used to an audience.” he replied. “If you’d like to stop, we c-”

“No.” she cut him off, rubbing her cheek on his sweater as she shook her head. “No, I… I want to do this.” As if to further make her point, she slid her hand down under her waistband and began working herself a little more earnestly. She was wet, and she involuntarily let a little needy sound escaped her throat as the pad of her finger began to circle her clit. She sneaked a look at Hannibal who was still watching her with his flat, black gaze, appearing to be little more than mildly interested in what was happening. But his hands had begun to move more. He cradled her closer against his side as he absently carded his fingers through her hair. When his fingers skimmed below the hem of her sweater to brush against her bare skin she gasped.

“Should I stop?” he asked earnestly, caressing her face with his knuckles. She believed in that moment that he would. Maybe not for the right reasons. Maybe just so the opportunity wouldn’t be ruined in the future. But she couldn’t make herself care any more than she could stop the ill advised reply from tumbling out of her mouth.

“I want you to do it.” she whispered, more than a little ashamed and how child-like her voice sounded when she was like this.

Hannibal hesitated a moment, as if caught off guard by what she was asking. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, letting her eyes fall closed as she felt his hand press flat against her stomach for a moment.

“Abigail?”

She looked up at him, blinking owlishly and fighting the urge to shrink back even further against him.

“If you tell me to stop I will stop.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“If something hurts, or is too intense, or if you want me to do something differently, you only need to say so.” he told her gently. “I need you to understand that this is for you, and only for you.”

Something told her that was partly a lie. But she understood his meaning, and she believed him nonetheless. “Okay.” she whispered.

His hand slid lower, pressing under hers and curling against the damp seam of her body. She gasped, a shudder rippling through her limbs.

“Show me what you were doing.” he told her, stroking her hair back out of her face. “Use my hand.”

She flushed at those words, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. Carefully, she maneuvered her hand to be flush over his, and pressed his fingers against wet heat of her body, working in circles with him for a moment before she let go and clung to his wrist with slick, trembling fingers.

His fingers were smooth and warm as they circled her clit. Nothing sharp, or hard… just a soft, slippery motion that she couldn’t resist rocking her hips against. Then he slid another finger to join the caress and he let the circle widen, slipping dangerously over her opening. She gasped, her hand tightening on his elbow.

“Don’t worry, Abigail.” He whispered. “I plan to do no more than this. This is what you want, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her mouth too dry from panting for many words.

“Relax and let me touch you.” he soothed. “I’ll do no more than you’ve given me leave to.”

“I…” she dared to turn her face up to his and momentarily lost all ability to speak. He still looked so dreadfully composed and content. She must look a mess. Puddled up in his arms, hair disheveled from his hands and her inability to keep still. And her leggings shoved down around her hips.

“What is it?” he asked calmly, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“I haven’t even kissed you yet.” she reached up with a shaking hand to touch his cheek. Wildly, she half expected his cheekbones to cut her fingers.

He cocked his head, pressing his face lightly into her touch. “Does that seem wrong to you?”

“No just… out of order.” she quavered. “Is… isn’t it?”

“Kissing can be far more intimate than this. Than making love even. Depending on the circumstance.”

“Every kiss I’ve ever had has been quite-” her voice tightened around a tiny gasp. “quite the opposite of intimate.”

“They were awkward.”

She nodded, closing her eyes and feeling the room spinning on the axis of his fingers slipping over her. “Would you kiss me? While you’re...”

Again he seemed to weigh her request on an invisible scale behind his eyes. He measured the silence long enough to make her think he might deny her, but then he leaned down and let his lips fall down over hers.

The first brush was sweet. Chaste, almost were it not for the filthy slide of his fingers between her legs. She arched up wanting more and he obliged her, not pressing further, but not denying her anything she sought, be it the press of his tongue over hers, his bottom lip between her teeth, or a firmer pressure against the hot seam under his hand. 

He was warm. That surprised her again. She always expected him to feel as cool as the calm, put-together aura he always wore around him like a heavy cloak. But here… on the couch in the living room with only the light of the weak winter sun to light his face as he pleasured her, he was warm. And he smelled faintly of the sweet basil that they’d purchased at the market. Her mouth fell open under his and she experimentally slid her tongue past his lips to scrape along his teeth.

His teeth. And his dangerous, deadly hands on her most sensitive places… he wasn’t a cold, reserved killer. He was hot… like the devil himself. It sent a small thrill through her and her hips bucked against his hand. She felt him smile against her mouth, so she rolled her hips against his fingers again, feeling her arousal rising in earnest, curling low and hot in her belly.

Hannibal pulled back from the kiss and cradled her against him as her grip tightened on his arm. She was practically riding his hand, nails curled into the sleeve of his sweater as she panted. He smoothed her hair from her face with his free hand as little by little she beautifully succumbed to the spasms in her hips. Then, all at once, she was arching off the sofa, her blue eyes wide and her mouth forming a ghostly little “oh” as she shook apart under his hands.

And he held her until she relaxed and all the tiny, shivery aftershocks had passed. Even after he’d put her clothes to rights, she still remained curled against his ribs, clutching his forearm as if it were a life preserver.

“Are you alright, Abigail?” he asked, nose in her hair.

She laid back and blinked at him, her pretty cheeks flushed with their exertions. “I- yes. Yes… I think so?”

“What is troubling you?”

She finally arched back and looked up at him, his face looming inverted over hers. “Was… was it okay what we did?”

“Well, first of all did you enjoy yourself?” He asked, his clinical teacher’s mask slipped firmly into place again. “Was that what you wanted to happen?”

She nodded, trying to wet her mouth enough to speak. “Did… did you? Was it what you wanted?”

“Well, that certainly is the other half of the equation. Though less important in this circumstance.” Hannibal replied with a smile as he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her unmaimed ear. “Yes, I did enjoy watching you. And it was what I wanted to happen as well.”

“But I haven’t done anything for you.” she said, trying to shift to face him. “Sh… should I be?”

He smiled at that, dropping a warm kiss on her forehead to still her. “Not this time.” he said with a soft smile. “I promised you that this was going to just be about you, and I do not want to go back on my word. If you want to explore further, I am happy to guide you, but I think it’s best if we keep this simple for now.”

She opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed her teeth with a contemplative click.

“Leave no stone unturned, Abigail.” he told her sagely. “But there is no need to rush.”

She still hesitated, but this time the words found their way out. “And if I don’t want to explore further…” she trailed off.

“Then we won’t.” he replied with a shrug. “It’s quite simple.”

Her brow creased as she willed herself to believe that. “I… um. I do want to explore further. But… thank you for not pushing me.”

“You’re most welcome.” he said, snugging his arms around her. “I only wish to give you what you need. Speaking of which, we should start on dinner. What about a chicken stew? The weather is supposed to be dismal over the next few days. You could eat it all week.”

She nodded brightly and sat up, smoothing her clothes before she stood. “What’s first?”

“Cut up the vegetables. An onion, four carrots and two stalks of celery. Just in cubes. This will cook for awhile and-”

Abigail had wandered towards the kitchen as he gave her the instructions. He stopped talking when she gave a little girlish squeak and scurried back around to the couch, sliding across the hardwood in her fleece socks. She laid a quick kiss on Hannibal’s upturned mouth, lingering for a moment before giving a mischievous smile and dashing back off to start on dinner.


	5. Bring a Pointy Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would have killed him.” Abigail looked up at Hannibal, her blue eyes wide. “If I had had my knife I would have stabbed him like I did Nick Boyle. And we would be in so much trouble.”
> 
> “Is that what really scares you?” His eyes narrowing a fraction and the barest shadow of a smile pulling at his lips. “Not the killing of the boy, but of the consequences?”
> 
> She nodded mutely, staring down at the empty tabletop with a vague frown. “What kind of person does that make me?”
> 
> Hannibal swooped around the table to kiss her gently on the cheek. “A survivor, my dear. As I’ve told you before.” He whispered softly, a reassuring smile painting his wide lips. “A survivor. Nothing more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! I have a busy weekend ahead of me, so you get this chapter early! Huzzah!
> 
> This chapter does contain a good bit of bloody murder and mayhem, but has no warnings otherwise.
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck and LawlessDragon for the beta.
> 
> And thanks to you as always for reading! I've been loving the feedback I've been hearing on this story. Much love and all the best!

And so it went for the month that followed. Abigail spent the weeks cocooned in the safety of the cliff-side cabin, warm and actively nurturing herself. She practiced cooking simple things from worn but meticulously handwritten recipe cards that Hannibal would leave in a little box on the counter for her. She played piano, albeit very poorly still. The notes on the page still may as well have been hieroglyphics, but every now and again she would catch herself not having to think quite so hard about what came next. Her foray into learning Italian was going much more smoothly. Her vocabulary was expanding every day, and verb conjugation was becoming second nature. She was going to give it several weeks more, but she thought she might ask Hannibal to only speak Italian when he came to visit on weekends.

For the weekends always did bring Hannibal. And he quite resolutely was “Hannibal” now. Not “Dr. Lecter.” It seemed stuffy and twisted to call him by his title and surname when they were doing... whatever it was they were doing. It actually first slipped out when he was pleasuring her on the couch again. He had been teasing her for what felt like a small eternity, escorting her to the edge and forcing her back over and over. His name had been a moan of pure frustration. She had been horrified, but a wicked smile cut his face, and he whispered her name into what remained of her left ear. The fresh, oversensitive scar tissue had sparked at the touch of his lips, sending her tumbling over the edge of the spectacular climax he had spent the better part of the last hour building for her.

She still hadn’t reciprocated his attention. They would kiss, and he would cradle her against him, but she had not yet dared to reach for the obvious bulge in his trousers. Sometimes, it bothered her during the week when she would think about it. It went against everything she had ever heard about sex. Everything was supposed to be equal, or at the very least, the guy should get off. Part of her knew Hannibal would be appalled at that characterization. And in truth, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to reciprocate. She just… didn’t know how. Not the mechanics, obviously but… when it came to the moment she would just freeze before the offer could pass her lips. 

What if she did it wrong, or he didn’t enjoy it? And before she could push past the mental block and ask anyway, he would always bundle her up against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. And she couldn’t keep herself from just collapsing into that treasured space, letting him kiss her to drowsiness. 

And so, every time he would depart for the week, she ultimately would counsel herself to be patient. The time would present itself for her to ask. 

In truth, the only blot on the whole affair was the boy at the market. What had started as innocent flirtation had become more and more insistent. He began asking questions… her name… where she went to school. She evaded or outright lied at first, finding that Hannibal was not over her shoulder as her father had been in all these situations prior. She had to talk her own way out of it. And Hannibal seemed amused to watch her attempts to passively shrug him off. And most days she could handle it, or managed to just avoided him altogether. 

But one Saturday, things got out of hand. The young man was laying it on thick as usual, so Abigail opted to take the first load of groceries back to the car. Instead of letting her be, he actually followed her back to Hannibal’s Bentley, calling her assumed name as they went.

“Hey, come on!” he said when she got to the car. “Anna! I just want to ask you something.”

She turned around with a smile that was barely more than a nervous baring of teeth. “Yeah?”

“Hey, I was just…” he slowed his jog to a saunter as he neared her. “Just going to see if you wanted to go catch a movie in town sometime.”

“No… I appreciate it, but no.” She replied, her voice rising in pitch in tandem with her heartrate. 

“What’s the matter?” he pressed, still coming closer. “You got a boyfriend?”

“No I-”

“Yeah, you smile like you don’t have a boyfriend.” he said, his own wicked grin cutting across his face. “Come on, you can’t flirt like that and not at least come out with me sometime.”

“I didn’t mean-” he had reached her by then, placing both hands on either side of her shoulders to trap her against the car door. With both hands full of bags, she was effectively caught, unless she wanted to drop their groceries in the mud churned up by the tires. She might have done so if she had her hunting knife with her. 

That thought washed over her accompanied by an icy, nauseating wave of dread. It would just be that easy… Just like it had been easy with Nicholas Boyle. Though the aftermath would not be so clean. She could already feel the blood between her fingers, and she couldn’t tell if she was just remembering or imagining. 

Thank goodness she didn’t have the knife.

“Just say yes!” he kept pressing, completely innocent to the thoughts raging in Abigail’s head. “Say you’ll come with me. I’ll show you a good time.” he reached out to cup her cheek and she jerked away as if he meant to brand her with it. “Come on don’t be like that.” He grabbed her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. A pathetic noise escaped her throat followed swiftly by the sound of Hannibal’s voice.

“That’s quite enough. I’ll thank you to get your hands off my daughter.”

The boy jumped back like he’d been burned. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.” He half shouted defensively. 

“I think you meant a great deal.” Hannibal retorted with a calm sharpness that made Abigail unconsciously flinch. “I don’t tolerate such rudeness. Especially not towards her. Please, remove yourself.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault she’s a tease, man. You should teach her better manners.” the boy tossed off over his shoulder.

“He should speak for himself.” Hannibal muttered as he helped a quaking Abigail into the car.

***

Dinner that night was more awkward than anything had been since their arrival at the cabin. Abigail couldn’t help the desire and instinct to hold herself at a distance, and Hannibal seemed quietly content to let her have the space she needed. But she knew it wasn’t space from him that she really wanted, so it shocked her when he said he would be heading back to Baltimore that evening.

“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable. A luncheon at the art museum tomorrow.” he sighed as he took a long considering sip of his wine. 

“You can’t just decline?” She asked miserably.

“Oh, I would if I could. Those events are dreadful. The food is always terrible and the company is worse. But I’m due to receive an award for my contributions so I am bound to go and accept their thanks.” he watched as she deflated at the news. “Today hasn’t been the easiest day, I know. That boy at the market…” he tutted dramatically and shook his head. “His behavior was unforgivable.”

“I’m okay.” She replied, a little too quickly

“You’ve survived much worse than an overly amorous suitor.” he said with a slight smile. “But even still. It doesn’t account for the wrongness of what he did.”

“He… isn’t what scared me.” Abigail had to force the words past the bars of her teeth. “I scared myself.”

Hannibal inclined his head slightly, fixing her with his matte black gaze. “What did you think of when he had you cornered like that?”

“Nick Boyle.” She could barely make more than the shape of the name.

“He did have you cornered in much the same fashion. And you were defenseless this time.”

“I would have killed him.” Abigail looked up at Hannibal, her blue eyes wide. “If I had had my knife I would have stabbed him like I did Nick Boyle. And we would be in so much trouble.”

“Is that what really scares you?” His eyes narrowing a fraction and the barest shadow of a smile pulling at his lips. “Not the killing of the boy, but of the consequences?”

She nodded mutely, staring down at the empty tabletop with a vague frown. “What kind of person does that make me?”

Hannibal swooped around the table to kiss her gently on the cheek. “A survivor, my dear. As I’ve told you before.” He whispered softly, a reassuring smile painting his wide lips. “A survivor. Nothing more.”

She just nodded again, her hand finding its way up the sleeve of his shirt to play with the cuff where it rolled tight against his arm. “Are you coming back? This weekend, I mean?”

“I am. I should be in tomorrow afternoon, and I was thinking of staying through Monday at least to make it up to you.”

She brightened a little at this. “Yeah?”

“It’s a holiday, so I’ve cancelled those appointments to make up for having to be gone on Sunday. And I’ll likely have a surprise for you on my return.”

Abigail cracked her first genuine smile since they’d arrived home. “Okay!”

***

Abigail didn’t set an alarm for Sunday morning. She just let the diffused light of the late winter sun slowly coax her out of her dreamless sleep. She realized she could hear footsteps and the taps running downstairs. Was Hannibal back already? She looked at the clock on her bedside table. It read the time at 10:30am. Anxiety coiled under her ribs as she crawled out of bed to investigate. She crept downstairs to find Hannibal in the kitchen, wearing a pristine clear plastic suit over his waistcoat and tie. And he standing over the bound and gagged form of the young man from the cheese stand lying on the butcher block.

He made a pitiful noise through the gag at her entrance, something that passed for a formless plea. Hannibal turned and smiled brightly at her.

“Good morning!” his voice was paradoxically cheery over the muffled moans of his captive. “I told you I would have a surprise for you.”

Abigail blanched as she stepped tentatively closer, swallowing down a wave of nausea that threatened to make her collapse on the spot. The boy’s eyes snapped to her face and the formless pleading began anew. High pitched panicked wheezes escaped him along with drool from the gag between his teeth.

“We both found his behavior abominable at the market.” Hannibal went on, pacing towards her. “And I didn’t wish to see him distress you further.”

“You want me to kill him.” she said, her voice shaking. She tried to focus on Hannibal’s face and not on the trembling form of the young man.

“You certainly don’t have to. I had planned to do it regardless.” Hannibal responded, picking up a sharpening steel to work on a hunting knife. Her hunting knife, she realized. “But if you feel it needful.”

“I…” Abigail made the mistake of glancing at Hannibal and had to spin herself a hundred and eighty degrees to keep from fleeing altogether. Suddenly, everything was too close. She felt the hot, claustrophobic panic engulfing her as it had when she made the split second decision to kill Nick Boyle. She knew she didn’t want to make the decision in this state. It wouldn’t be a decision, but a reaction, so she took a moment gathered herself for a few spastic breaths. “Needful?” She asked, still not turning around. “How is it needful?”

Hannibal gave his characteristic thoughtful pout as he worked the knife’s edge over the steel. “I would argue that it is needful in the same way the death of Nicholas Boyle was needful.”

“You mean his murder.” she bit back. “I murdered him Hannibal, on the off chance that he might do me harm.”

“And this boy did not mean you harm?”

“I-” she turned back to see the boy shaking his head. 

“What do you think he wanted?” Hannibal asked, looking down at him.

She stood there, a deep frown creasing her brow. She thought back to what had transpired the previous day. He had stalked her. Followed her. Trapped her. The things he said. The things he accused her of. What would he have done if Hannibal hadn’t come to stop him? Or if she had foolishly agreed to go with him?

“He didn’t want anything.” she replied, her voice faint with her lack of conviction. She watched his panicked tension deflate a little at her words. He stopped struggling, eyes turning hopeful. “It wasn’t about what he wanted. He thought he was owed.”

Hannibal’s brows arched in pleased surprise. “Owed? An interesting observation.”

“He was nice to me.” Abigail recalled, pacing a little closer. “Or so he thought. It’s not really being nice when you’re wanting something out of it. Is it?” She looked up at Hannibal, watching out of the corner of her eye as panic welled anew in the boy’s form.

A smile tickled the corners of Hannibal’s capacious mouth. “No. No, it really isn’t.” He handed her the knife, handle first. 

She gripped it tight, the feel of the bone familiar under her hand. It was the same knife she’d used on Boyle and on all the girls she’d hunted with her father. This was her knife. It smelled uncomfortably like her father, but she aggressively pushed that thought away.

“Nicholas Boyle thought I owed him something too. An explanation for what happened to his sister when I had none to give.” Abigail said, turning the knife over in her hand, watching the pale morning light dance along all the edge of the freshly honed blade.

“You owe nothing to anyone, Abigail.” Hannibal said. “Not to me. Not to Nicholas Boyle. And not to his boy here.”

She cocked her head slightly in thought. “I don’t even know his name.” She said distantly.

That tore a mangled sound from the boy’s gagged mouth. Unintelligible and obstructed by physical force and panic.

“Do you owe him that?” Hannibal asked.

She gave a small shake of her head. “No.”

Abigail closed the distance in two strides, fit the knife under the boy’s ear as he screamed against the gag. She barely marked any friction as she dragged edge across the flesh of his throat. Blood erupted out as if from a geyser. His pitiful screams drowned in the warm spray, and Abigail just watched him struggle, her blood spattered expression curious and patient. As his form finally stilled, and his last gurgling breath escaped him, she looked to Hannibal.

“That’s what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there.” she said, flatly. “When my father cut my throat.”

“Possibly.” Hannibal replied with equal calm. “Will didn’t possess the knowledge to save you, nor was he in any fit state of mind to do much more than what he did, which was panic. But that panic saved you in turn. It’s what compelled him to shoot your father.”

“Kill or be killed. Hurt or be hurt.” she said softly, her voice distant and almost musical. “Will would have hurt you if you hadn’t framed him first.”

Hannibal only nodded.

“That’s why he has to be locked up. It’s… to save your skin.”

“If it were only my skin that I was interested in, I would have killed him instead of go through such an elaborate charade to frame him.” Hannibal answered. “I would have killed you too. But I stayed my hand.”

“Why?” she asked. “What makes us unique?”

“The fact that we are not unique at all. We only thought we were for the longest time. It is together that we will be unique.” 

“The three of us?”

“The three of us.” Hannibal confirmed as he opened his arms and beckoned her to him. 

She went, but not before setting her knife on the table. She pressed her face, sticky with drying blood, against the plastic of his suit and his arms encircled her. For a split second she thought she might cry as she had when she’d confessed to being her father’s accomplice. But when no tears came, she looked up. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked. “You don’t strike me as the plumbing putty type.”

Hannibal laughed then. “No, my practical girl, I’m afraid not. And I venture to think that neither are you.”

She pressed her lips together, feeling them tacky with blood and resisting the urge to lick it off. “Not really, I don’t think so.”

“Then, I’ll butcher him for you, and help you dispose of the rest.”

“I can do it.” she said, shaking her head and picking up her knife again. “The butchering at least.”

“Do you want to?”

She found herself pouting in thought, much the way he did. “I don’t see why not.”

“Then in that case, I shall simply assist.”

The grin that spread on her face rivaled the light of the sun in the sky, and Hannibal couldn’t help but pridefully mirror it.

***


	6. Put Knowledge in my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is what you wanted me for?” she asked after the light had been put out. “An apprentice?” 
> 
> “No.” he replied, reaching out to caress her cheek with his knuckles. “I want a family that understands me. I have not known much understanding… and even less of love for that matter.”
> 
> “So Will… he’s…”
> 
> “He… is still a complicated matter.” He looked down where his hand rested on the mattress. “He will be what it is in his capacity to be.”
> 
> “And what is it in my capacity to be?”
> 
> A soft smile curled across his handsome face. “What do you want to be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! I come bearing a new chapter!
> 
> This chapter is very much NSFW and includes happy fun cannibalism time in addition to happy fun sexy time.
> 
> The next chapter will be a little late, as I'll be traveling next week, but I promise I'll update as soon as I get home.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Seeing all those kudos rack up, and getting comments to answer gives me so much life. I can't thank you all enough.
> 
> All the best, and much love!

That night Hannibal prepared an utterly exquisite meal to celebrate. Five courses, many of which had French names that Abigail couldn’t hope to pronounce, and all of them were delightful. Especially dessert, which was an Italian confection rather than French. “Sanguinaccio” Hannibal had called it, and she knew enough Italian to surmise what the main ingredient was. But the second ingredient was very fine chocolate, and it had taken all her willpower to not lick the bowl, or wipe it out with her fingers when she had finished. She was thrilled that there were leftovers. She had a date with sanguinaccio, a very large spoon, and Netflix sometime that week for sure.

After dinner, the two of them drifted through the house. She practiced piano, garnering some advice on an ornament she’d been struggling with. He read a bit of poetry to her, first in French and then translated to English. They were in each other’s orbit and yet separate, clinging to each other in fond words and quick glimpses caught in the corner of their eyes. 

Then, as if the world were drawing breath, Hannibal announced that he was retiring for the evening. Abigail let him go for the moment, staring out through the picture window as she weighed her options. The weather had finally, and appropriately cleared and all the starry host glittered in the velvet sky. She wondered idly if Will knew much about stargazing. Or if Hannibal did for that matter. Her father had taught her to navigate using the night sky. Perhaps someday she might return the favor of all the lessons Will and Hannibal would teach her.

When she was done stargazing and soul searching, Abigail followed Hannibal upstairs, pausing in her room to change into her pajamas. They had not actually slept together in the same bed before now. Not since that first night at his house back in Baltimore. Their forays into Abigail’s physical pleasure were taken as an afternoon affair… almost like an aperitif before dinner. A casual amusement, no more serious or demanding than reading a book or sharing a bowl of strawberries. There was something solemn and holy about the prospect of entering Hannibal’s bedroom… or him entering hers.

But something told her that it was time.

When she cracked the door, Hannibal, dressed in what she was sure was silk pajamas, was just turning down the sheets. He paused to look at her, seeming nonplussed at her arrival, as if he had expected her. Wordlessly, she padded to the opposite side of the bed and slipped between the sheets as he did the same. They lay there, much as they had the first night after her false death. A gap of space between them, even as they breathed one another in.

“This is what you wanted me for?” she asked after the light had been put out. “An apprentice?” 

“No.” he replied, reaching out to caress her cheek with his knuckles. “I want a family that understands me. I have not known much understanding… and even less of love for that matter.”

“So Will… he’s…”

“He… is still a complicated matter.” He looked down where his hand rested on the mattress. “He will be what it is in his capacity to be.”

“And what is it in my capacity to be?”

A soft smile curled across his handsome face. “What do you want to be?”

“I want to be part of his understanding.” she replied, her hands growing fidgety on the tassels of the bedspread. “And of yours.” 

His smile widened, and heat curled low in her body making her shift on the sheets. He reached out and pulled her to him letting their lips fall together. “But understanding isn’t all you want.” he whispered into her open mouth.

She shook her head, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t make her verbalize any of what she was wanting in that moment. But of course he would want to hear it. The sadist in him would want to twist the words out of her like spinning yarn. She could at least save her dignity… 

“I want to touch you.” she said haltingly, the words snagging on her canines. “Because I let you touch me all the time.”

“You do seem to enjoy it.” he replied with blithe amusement.

“Would you enjoy it? If I… touched you? Played with you the way you play with me?”

“I would.” he nodded serenely.

“Then can I?”

“By all means.” He replied as if all she needed do was reach for him. As if it were that simple in her mind.

She hesitated, fingers toying with the buttons on his pajamas, not yet willing to begin undoing them. “Will you… will you help me if I’m not getting it right?” She asked, not looking up from where her fingers worked.

“Don’t I always, Abigail?” he said, cupping a hand under her ruined ear and drawing her gaze up to his face.

She nodded, almost as if to herself, before leaning over and beginning their kiss again. Her hands quickly developed a mind of their own, exploring the solidness of Hannibal’s muscles through the soft satin of his pajamas. Hannibal pulled her closer, secure in the circle of arms with the lines of their bodies pressed flush together.

She could feel him through their clothes. The hardening line of his cock pressed softly into the curve of her stomach. Her first instinct was to just touch him. Get the first contact over with, and she felt herself tense in his hands at the thought. Hannibal made to pull back and she recalculated, giving a soft roll of her body against his. She smiled against his lips when he responded in kind.

Then she reached down, skating her palm up the length of his cock feeling the silk dampen at her touch. They did break the kiss then, Abigail watching his face with rapt attention as she slowly stroked him. His mask barely quavered, but his breathing sped. She squeezed lightly on the next stroke and he made a small sound deep in his throat.

“Alright?” she asked, a little more enamored than concerned.

He nodded, his tongue flicking over his lips. “Don’t feel like you have to rush.” he said, his voice wearing ragged at the edges.

She smiled at his unconvincing tone. “I won’t.” she replied and was gratified with a knowing smile. She slid her hand past his waistband, and allowed her fingers to brush his bare length. The skin felt hot enough to brand and the fluid that leaked from the head made her palm sticky. But his reaction… he hissed between his teeth and his eyes unfocused from her face for a moment before he managed to refill his lungs and steady himself.

The angle was awkward and restricted her movement, but despite the growing cramp in her wrist, Abigail never wanted to stop touching him. Each slide of her fingers punched the air from Hannibal’s lungs and made him grip her even tighter against him. The cramp in her wrist swelled to a stabbing pain but she didn’t care… she just…

“That can’t be comfortable.” Hannibal said, his accent laying more thickly on his words than Abigail had ever heard it.

“It’s not.” she replied before capturing his mouth briefly with her own. “But it’s fine. I don’t want to stop.”

Hannibal made a little noise of disapproval before pulling away enough to push his pajamas and underwear down his legs. Abigail fought a sharp, nervous breath when she saw his cock flushed to an angry red and spasming at each touch. She countered by getting her hand back on him as quickly as possible. He was harder now… heavy in her gentle grip and she could feel his pulse kicking against her palm.

“You’re pushing yourself.” Hannibal said, curling one hand behind her ear again. It was such a familiar gesture. Grounding and centering.

“I… I don’t want to be nervous.” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I’ve… I’ve sometimes found if I don’t act like I’m nervous it helps.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“Are… are you enjoying this?” She asked, her eyes bright and cautious as they searched his face.

“Try again, Abigail.” Hannibal said, fixing her with an infuriatingly calm stare.

She let out the shaky breath she was holding. “I’m scared because I want to do more than this. And I’m nervous because I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“You needn’t fear your desires, Abigail.” he told her earnestly, scratching his nails through her dark hair. “I will take care of you, and I will show you how to take care of me. And that goes for all the nights we are together. You shouldn’t worry about putting on a performance. There will be ample opportunity for that. Just touch me… learn me… take all the time you need.”

She nodded, swallowing hard against the dryness of her mouth. She wrapped her hand around his length and gave a slow, loose stroke, watching the expressions that flickered across his face. How his pupils blew wide open and his breath hung in his ribs.

“God… your face.” She breathed with awe. “I’ve never seen you look like this.”

“How do I look?”

She hesitated on her answer, choosing instead to experiment with a little twist of her wrist. It pulled another exquisite and filthy groan from him. “Human…” she answered softly, repeating the motion. “And wonderful.”

“Tighten your grip a little.” he said, curling his hand over hers and moaning at the increasing intensity. “That’s it… that’s it…” he whispered, falling back across the bed and pulling her with him.

She watched him with hungry eyes, as he rutted into her hand. She vividly recalled the slide of his fingers against her clit, and found herself unable to keep a soft roll out of her hips. She wondered what it would feel like to rub herself against him… and how his cock would feel inside her. What he would do to make sure it wasn’t painful. As wet as she was, it didn’t seem like anything could hurt.

“How will you do it?” she asked, her voice a little hazy. “When you do?”

“How will I take your virginity from you when you choose to give it?” Hannibal asked. He let his head fall back against the pillow as his eyes fluttered closed. “I will give you the choice. Whether or not you want to be on top.”

“Which do you want?”

He grunted low in his throat. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“When you imagine it, then.” she corrected, giving another little twist of her wrist on the next stroke. He gasped as his hands convulsed over her shoulder blades. “I figure you’ve imagined it.”

“I’ve entertained different scenarios.” he admitted, his words punctuated by fast, panting breaths. “Each has its advantages and disadvantages.”

“You’re not answering the question.” she replied with a wicked little smile that she matched to another experimental twist of her wrist that sent his hips arching off the bed.

“Nor am I going to. I don’t want my desire to influence what you will truly want and need in that moment.” Her mouth pulled in a petulant little pout that Hannibal kissed from her lips with a deft flick of his tongue. 

“But do you want it?”

“Oh, Abigail.” he breathed, smiling to bare his sharp teeth as he rutted into her hand with tight, short thrusts. “I want nothing more than to take my pleasure inside you.”

Again… she didn’t know if he was lying. But she wasn’t sure she cared. It was at worst a half truth if his ardent thrusting was any gauge. Their pace continued to quicken. Abigail could see the wild pleasure suffusing into his normally composed features, and feel his body growing taut beneath her. She wanted to ask him to tell her what to do… she knew what was happening and what would come next if she could just get him there. Would she be able to get him there?

“Abigail…” her name tumbled from his lips, rough and ragged. And then he dropped back against the pillows with a sharp cry. Hot, thick fluid gushed over her hand as he thrust with wild abandon against her palm. She watched with rapt attention as he arched off the bed and then fell back again, relaxed and shuddering.

She licked her lips nervously, unsure now of what to do. Her thoughts spun in a frantic loop. What happens now? But Hannibal expertly guessed her state of mind as always. He leaned up, cupping her face in his hand and kissed her, feeling the tension melt from her like frost in sunlight.

“I’ve made a mess of you, I’m afraid.” Hannibal said, smiling against her skin. “Let me clean you up and then I’ll see to you.” She nodded eagerly as he retrieved a few tissues from the bedside table and helped her mop up the come drying on her fingers. Then he gently rolled her onto her back and helped her shimmy out of her pajama bottoms. She was wet. Practically dripping with slick when his fingers found her clit. She bit down on a moan as it escaped her throat.

“You don’t like to make much noise.” Hannibal observed as his fingers spun little circles around her opening and over her clit.

“It feels… embarrassing.”

“Would it be less embarrassing if I told you that I found it arousing?” he said, his free hand gliding up her flank to caress her breast.

“You… you do?” she stammered, caught between genuine surprise and the electric sensation of Hannibal rolling her nipple between his dextrous fingers.

“Oh yes.” he said with a wolfish smile. “May I try something that we haven’t before that I think you’ll enjoy?”

She swallowed and nodded, unable to separate her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

“Let me use my tongue where my fingers are.”

Abigail felt the room spin as she considered it. She hoped she didn’t spend too long in deciding, though it was less a decision and more trying to make his words make sense in her pleasure-addled brain. Just the thought alone of his hot, hungry mouth on her clit set her blood to boil. In the end, she just nodded, not trusting herself to achieve any sort of coherency.

Satisfied with her answer, Hannibal gently spread her knees as he stretched himself out between her thighs. He steadied her hips between his hands and then leaned down to lick the flushed seam of her pussy. She seized at the touch of his velvety tongue on her body, pleasure coming up through her core in little arcs of lightning. And he licked again. And again. She couldn’t have stopped herself from making noise if her life depended on it. 

He was opening her, she realized. Peeling her body open with his tongue to gain deeper access. Somewhere distant, alarm bells were ringing at the sensation, but trust and pleasure drowned them out. And Abigail couldn’t control the sounds she was making. High pitched, mewling noises that would sound pitiful and ridiculous were it not for the filthy slide of Hannibal’s tongue along her body.

The touch of Hannibal’s tongue was nowhere near as directly stimulating as his fingers. Instead of thrusting and shuddering, Abigail felt all will to move slowly drain from her muscles save the desire to spread her legs wider. A fire kindled low in her stomach goaded on by each stroke. He licked deeper and deeper each time and she found she only wanted more. Tentatively, she reached down, and slid her hands into his silvering hair, finding it soft and feathery under her fingers.

At that he groaned against her pussy, sending little vibrations sparking out all over her body. He laid an open-mouthed kiss against her clit and sucked softly. Abigail could feel his teeth, veiled in soft lips and tongue. At that thought, the embers in her stomach were fanned to a roaring fire, and it only took a few more dextrous licks before she came with a high pitched cry of his name.

Hannibal climbed up on all fours over her body as she wound down. She gazed up at him, wanting to say something, but she couldn’t find words. She could barely find air. She reached up with shaking arms and pulled him down on top her her, letting their lips fall together. She could taste herself there, and she licked into his mouth mirroring the motion he’d used on her.

“Was that satisfactory?” he asked, with a smile that clearly already knew the answer.

She grinned up at him, wrinkling her nose and nodded. “Different, but so good.” she said, wriggling down into the pillows as her hands skated over the edges of his shoulderblades. “I guess I have to go back to my own room now, huh?”

Hannibal pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Not unless you want to.” he replied, halfway blanketing her body with his. “Are you still having trouble with dreams?”

“Sometimes.” she answered looking away and fingering the stitching on his pajamas. “Usually it’s when you’re not here. Though… I imagine I’ll have nightmares after today.”

“Did you not enjoy it?” he asked with a little frown puckering his brow.

“No.” she answered quickly. “No, I enjoyed it. I just… I’m afraid of becoming my father, I guess. It means everyone was right.” She answered, balking internally at how honest she was post orgasm.

“You see what we did this afternoon as an emulation of his crimes?” He rolled to lie beside her, one arm still draped over her.

“I guess?” She shrugged. “There were certainly similarities. Same knife. Same butchering. Though you had your own influence, of course.”

“But your reasons and methods can be different. From his or mine. The choice to emulate your father or eschew his methods and meaning will be yours and yours alone.”

“But…” she didn’t know what to say. It was hard to give any of it voice even now. “I just feel like he’s always there… still watching and judging everything I do.”

Hannibal was quiet for a moment as he pooled her pleasure slackened body against his. “Would you like me to help you banish him, Abigail.”

She looked up at him for a hard moment before she nodded. Again, words felt beyond her. Easier by far to assent without giving herself words to trip on.

Hannibal gave a short little nod. “Then I will help you.” he said, as if he were only going to assist her with her math homework. He smiled and kissed her forehead. “For now sleep. We will wrestle with that demon in the morning. I’m sure it could do with a good night’s rest as much as we can.”

“I have to go sleep in my own bed now, don’t I?” she asked again. “You told me that once. When I asked to stay at your house.”

Hannibal smiled as he twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “Not if you don’t want to. I like having you close.”

As if in answer, Abigail burrowed deeper into the circle of his arms. If she had been sent to her own bed, this would keep her up until dawn. But now, held secure and still by Hannibal, nothing seemed to be able to bother her. Not Hannibal’s crimes. Not her crimes. And not the crimes of her father. The whole world could wait if Hannibal was holding it at bay.

***


	7. Reddish Work Done at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, when Abigail had finished putting away the dishes from dinner, she wandered into the office of the cabin following a familiar, earthy smell she couldn’t quite place. It pulled on a strand of her memory as surely as it pulled her through space to find its source. She found Hannibal standing in front of two facing chairs, with a pot of murky brown tea steeping on the desk.
> 
> Mushroom tea, again. That was the familiar smell.
> 
> Her gaze slid back and forth between the teapot and Hannibal’s face for a few seconds before she could speak.
> 
> “We’re doing this again?” she asked, her brows peaking. “You think it was a good idea after last time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all, and thank you for your patience while I was on vacation. I loved seeing all your feedback in my inbox. I've got three more chapters to go after this one, and I don't expect any further interruptions in my posting schedule.
> 
> This chapter is unbeta-ed, so please excuse any errors. It contains consensual drug use and some horror elements and canon typical violence, but other than that there are no other warnings.
> 
> Again... thank you all for your patience. And for reading in the first place. And for your comments and kudos. Much love, and all the best.

The next day, when Abigail had finished putting away the dishes from dinner, she wandered into the office of the cabin following a familiar, earthy smell she couldn’t quite place. It pulled on a strand of her memory as surely as it pulled her through space to find its source. She found Hannibal standing in front of two facing chairs, with a pot of murky brown tea steeping on the desk.

Mushroom tea, again. That was the familiar smell.

Her gaze slid back and forth between the teapot and Hannibal’s face for a few seconds before she could speak.

“We’re doing this again?” she asked, her brows peaking. “You think it was a good idea after last time?”

“You certainly were successful in dealing with your trauma under the effects of psilocybin.” Hannibal replied with a shrug. “But as with everything, it’s your choice. I will not force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I’m uncomfortable with it because it’s what needs to happen.” she replied, pacing a little closer as she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes were fixed on the teapot as if it were a coiled snake. “Isn’t that the way it works?”

“Sometimes.” Hannibal said with a considering press of lips. “But not in all things. And certainly not for this. There are other ways of dealing with your issues with your father. I simply thought this might be the quickest and most direct.”

She rolled that thought around in her skull for a moment. The tea hadn’t been that bad before. She had just been nervous because she didn’t know what to expect that first time, which likely didn’t help matters. Now that she at least knew what to prepare for…

“I’ll do it.” she said quickly, smoothing her palms over the front of her pants. “You’re probably right. It’s something we know I respond to.”

Hannibal gave her favorite prideful smile. “Then I shall pour, and we will get started.”

***

Once the tea was in her system and the moment of initial bout of unsettled nausea had passed, Hannibal blindfolded Abigail. She quailed at first at the thought of having a sense cut off when she knew she was about to not be able to trust any of them, but he had gently insisted.

“I will better be able to guide you, if you’re deprived of your strongest sense.” He’d told her, and so she relented. “Trust me, Abigail. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not going anywhere than I cannot follow.”

Now she sat in one of the facing office chairs, still and blind as Hannibal began to speak to her.

“I want to talk about family. And by extension your father.” Hannibal said hovering somewhere off to her right. “Did you love him?”

She swallowed, feeling the urge to reach for him wash over her like water. “I don’t know. I think I did. Before he tried to murder me.”

“Even when he had you helping him kill all those girls. To save your life?”

Her jaw clenched. Honesty. Hannibal wanted honesty. “I don’t know.”

“I sense that you are not proud of what you did with your father. Not because the act of taking life disgusts you. But because you don’t agree with his reasons. You didn’t understand them.”

“I don’t feel like I’m worth the lives of eight people.” She replied tightly. “Nine if you count Nick Boyle.”

“And yet, he thought you were. And I am inclined to agree.” Hannibal replied. “There are epic tales of someone slaying far more people than your father did, or even I have, to gain their cherished child or beloved partner. Is it so difficult to see this as anything different?”

“He was saving me from… from himself!” She half shouted, shaking her head. “He loved me but he wanted to kill me. I can’t understand why I’m the only one that doesn’t make sense to.” 

“Because you define love too narrowly.” Hannibal answered, pacing away for a moment. Abigail turned her head to follow the sound. “And your definition doesn’t allow for the madness inherent in it. No one pretends your father was well or stable. But we must acknowledge that he loved you in the best way he knew how. Can you picture him in your mind? Your father?”

She gave a quick nod.

“Picture him for me now. Sitting across from you. Let your mind find him sitting there.” 

She turned back to face the chair, fixing it in front of her occluded sight. The drugs clouded and clarified her vision by turns. She could see his face, but she found herself picturing him as he would have been at his funeral, had he been given a proper one. Black suit bought especially for putting him in the ground. It wouldn’t fit right. Pale waxy-looking skin. Eyes beginning to gray over. The FBI would have kept his body a long time. 

“We have a basic affinity for our family.” She heard Hannibal’s voice nearer to her now. “We can detect each other through smell alone.” Abigail felt a waft of air in front of her face and inhaled instinctively. “Do you recognize this?”

She smelled sandpaper, bone dust, and oil from a rotary tool… and residue from the hand that gripped it as it was being made. Her stomach gave a little flip. “My father made it. Out of bone.” she replied with no small amount of distaste.

She felt Hannibal’s smooth hand over her wrist, turning her hand over and dropping the cool handle of the knife into her clammy palm. “Your father never wished for anything but your happiness.”

“My father cut my throat.” She retorted bitterly, hoping to disguise the quiver in her voice with disgust.

“Out of love.” Came the answer. 

Abigail wanted to laugh. She tightened her grip on the knife handle instead. “That wasn’t love.” She nearly hissed.

“Every family loves differently. Every love is unique.” Hannibal replied with such infuriating calm that it made Abigail wonder for a split second if it was such a good idea for him to hand her a knife. “You deny your love for your father because of what it might mean about you. Do you smell him here, Abigail?”

Her throat convulsed as she inhaled, surprised to smell… “Yes.” She said, with clear excitement in her voice. She didn’t know where that was coming from. She didn’t know where any of this was coming from.

Hannibal’s fingers were picking the knot on the blindfold before she even finished the word. The black cloth fell away to reveal her father sitting stiffly in the chair exactly as she had pictured him. Waxy, dead skin, clouded eyes, and ill-fitting suit. And reeking of decay and embalming chemicals. It was as if she had summoned him with a thought. Maybe she had. She felt herself gasp a little, not in shock but in relief. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink. She had summoned a corpse when she had called to him in her mind.

“This is what your father is.” Hannibal said, pacing around behind the chair that housed her vision. “This is all of him now. This is what death has reduced him to.” He looked down and for a brief moment, Abigail was convinced that he was seeing the same thing she was. Maybe he could, somehow. Maybe that was what family with Will and Hannibal was. Or would be. 

Hannibal crossed to her and knelt by the arm of the chair, gazing at her with deep admiration. “All that’s left is honesty. Can you be honest with me now?”

The question was rhetorical. Abigail knew that. And she knew what he wanted, and she was finally and lucidly prepared to give it. She almost felt herself smile at the thought. “He was as good to me as he knew how to be.” she said, her words soft but purposeful. They lifted from her upturned lips like feathers on a breeze. “Hunting with him was the best time I ever had.”

Abigail could see Hannibal smiling to himself even though his face never moved. “Yes. A fine definition of love.” His words were soothing and full of pride. “You have to allow yourself to love him the way he loved you.”

She swallowed, the unburdened smile wilting from her lips. Was it that easy? She looked at Hannibal, who gazed back at her with an even satisfaction. It had always been that easy with Hannibal. It would be that easy now to deal with her father. She dropped her eyes to the blade, and her hand tightened again around the familiar worn handle. She stood resolutely, and closed the distance in three wide steps.

When the knife bit into her father’s throat she had expected a warm spray of blood, but instead an icy dribble of clear, brownish fluid washed from his opened neck. Shock ripped through her like a peal of crackling thunder. He was going to be gone now. Not haunting her dreams, or peering out of darkened corners watching her try to be normal. She expected to feel elated, but if Abigail was being as honest as she promised to be, she truly felt bereft and afraid. She knew what she might become if she had kept him with her. She had no idea what was in her nature if he wasn’t there.

Abigail stumbled back, breath coming in wheezing pants. Her retreat was met by the warm, solid wall of Hannibal’s body. She braced herself against him, feeling him smooth her hair and whisper gently in her ear.

“What you need of your father is here. In your head. Subject to your judgement, not his.” He told her as she tried to force herself to take steadying breaths. He pulled her closer as she began to shiver in the aftermath of the panic. “Never be ashamed of who you are, Abigail.”

“But… Will.” she said turning and pressing her face to Hannibal’s waist coat, letting the subtle scent of his aftershave drive away the sickening smell of embalming fluid and rot.

“What about him?” he asked, dropping his cheek to the part of her hair.

“He said killing is the ugliest thing there is.” she said miserably.

“Will is a complicated creature.” Hannibal replied as he snugged her closer into his embrace. “I remember when he said that to you. Tell me something. Do you think he was trying to soothe you, or placate his own demons.”

She looked up at him with confusion swimming in her pale blue eyes.

Hannibal smoothed her cheek and bent to kiss her forehead. “Will does not yet know himself. But he will. Just as you will. And knowing one’s self is a constant process.” 

Abigail let her eyes slip closed as her father’s scent faded from the room. Then she pulled back, arching up to meet Hannibal’s lips. “Sorry.” she whispered. “I just…”

He silenced her with a smile, his black eyes crinkling at the corners. “Never be ashamed of who you are, Abigail.” he repeated, dropping his forehead to hers. “Come. I want to teach you to make chocolate mousse.” He took the knife from her and led her from the office on interwoven fingers.

“But it’s nearly eleven pm.” she protested with good natured amusement.

“You’re not tired, and neither am I.” he replied. “Mousse is incredibly simple. We’ll have something sweet, get cleaned up, and go to bed.”

We will go to bed… 

Abigail turned that over in her mind with a private little smile. She wanted nothing more in the world.

Except chocolate.


	8. Tear the Light Out of my Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Will would still see her as a child. That shrinking violet he saved from her monster of a father. He would have no idea that she had been the one to truly and finally slay him. Hannibal had said that they would be two strangers meeting for the first time when they saw each other again. She certainly believed it, especially on Will’s part. He’d been incarcerated for months. Hannibal barely spoke about him save in the broadest terms, so she knew that couldn’t be good. She understood, at least obliquely, that he would be different. Would he be able to know that she was different, too?
> 
> Was she even really that different? She didn’t feel changed. She felt grounded. Stable. Maybe for the first time in her life. Hannibal had gifted her with ample space and the gentlest of direction, and she needed only take it when she was ready.
> 
> It might be time to lose her virginity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Another chapter as promised.
> 
> If the summary didn't give it away, this chapter is very NSFW and involves consensual loss of virginity (I hate that term). No other warnings besides.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, sending comments and kudos, and for bearing with my while I was on vacation. We should be back to a normal posting schedule... just a couple more to go now!
> 
> Enjoy!

Another week trickled by, and despite the warming weather, the skies still had not cleared. But that didn’t stop Abigail from taking walks along the cliff face if it wasn’t raining. She was grateful for the cabin, and the security and safety Hannibal offered her, but she was not a creature meant to be kept indoors. Perhaps he’d known that, and thus had opted to keep her here rather than in Baltimore.

As she idly kicked rocks off the cliff face, she wondered if this is how she and Will would bond. Both of them were more the outdoorsy type. Maybe he could teach her to fish, since she’d never really tried to before. They would find some stream together, and bring home a string of some kind of shiny scaled fish to Hannibal, who would be waiting at the plate glass picture window for their return. 

They would cook dinner together, just the three of them, and talk about their day while they ate. Dishes would be cleared. She would probably be the one to do them like the dutiful youth that she was, while the grownups had a drink in the living room. Will would probably insist on treating her like a child at first, and she found she didn’t chafe at the thought as much as she would have expected. Hannibal would play piano for them, and maybe she would play a little too. And they would talk about travel… the places they had been and the places they would like to see. The fantasy seemed so wonderfully and ridiculously domestic, all things considered.

And then, they would go to bed.

The fantasy always stopped there for some reason, skidding off into disjointed images and desires that Abigail couldn’t bring herself to order. It was never difficult to see herself in bed with Hannibal. They had made a habit now of sleeping together in the most literal sense. He knew her. Knew what she had and hadn’t done. Knew when to push and when to let her set the pace. Knew precisely how to touch her to make her come undone. 

But Will… he would still see her as a child. That shrinking violet he saved from her monster of a father. He would have no idea that she had been the one to truly and finally slay him. Hannibal had said that they would be two strangers meeting for the first time when they saw each other again. She certainly believed it, especially on Will’s part. He’d been incarcerated for months. Hannibal barely spoke about him save in the broadest terms, so she knew that couldn’t be good. She understood, at least obliquely, that he would be different. Would he be able to know that she was different, too?

Was she even really that different? She didn’t feel changed. She felt grounded. Stable. Maybe for the first time in her life. Hannibal had gifted her with ample space and the gentlest of direction, and she needed only take it when she was ready.

It might be time to lose her virginity.

The thought slid across her mind without any accompanying barbs of fear for the first time. She frowned a little at that, as she kicked another stone over the cliff. She didn’t feel frightened or nervous, though part of her knew in the moment she certainly would be. But she’d mastered those feelings. Learned when they were induced by self-consciousness rather than true discomfort or danger.

Now she found the only nervousness came when she thought of how she would do approach it. There were options unending, but she was equally unpracticed with each of them. She could out right ask, which felt the most uncomfortable, but the discomfort was like that of ripping off a bandaid. Just ask, and be done with it. But this was Hannibal she was talking about. Anyone else and they might have asked, “Are you sure?” but nothing else otherwise. Hannibal would want to tease apart her reasons for being so abrupt which would defeat the purpose of being direct in the first place.

But on the other hand, seducing him seemed laughable at the outset. He was far smarter, cooler, and quicker than she could ever hope to be. And he had explicitly stated that he didn’t flirt, save with those he felt were beneath him. But at the same time, Hannibal was frequently given to fancy, and often allowed things to play out for his own amusement and curiosity. She’d seen this a number of times during his visits to the cabin, be it her piano lessons, twisting apart complicated poetry, or just her asking for a kiss. Even though it was the most laughable idea, seduction might be the way to go.

That Friday evening after dinner when Abigail had finished the dishes, she found Hannibal in the living room using the last rosy light of the sunset to read. But she could tell he wasn’t really reading. He turned the pages with regularity, but his eyes stayed focused. He was watching her at the edges of his vision, which meant he knew she was planning something. But of course he did. He could always sense when the gears of her mind were at work. She’d factored that in, so it didn’t matter anyway.

She must have lingered too long at the entrance to the living room, because Hannibal set the book across his knee and smiled at her. It was her favorite smile. The barest pull of amusement at one corner of his mouth. And a keen, sharp light in his eyes that always made Abigail draw a tiny breath when it was directed at her.

“You’ve been lost in thought quite a bit today.” He said with the faintest turn of his head. “I thought at first you might have a surprise planned for dinner.”

She laughed a little, pacing into the room. “Not for dinner, no. And… not really a surprise.”

“What is it then, Abigail?” His smile was still warm and more than a little amused.

“Well, I was going to try and be a little more smooth about it, but…” she trailed off. And he waited with that frozen, patient stare as she sauntered a step or two further into the room, letting her hips sway a little. But she couldn’t bring herself to fully meet his eyes when she spoke. “I was wanting to lose my virginity tonight.”

If he truly wasn’t surprised, he feigned it well. “Hardly a loss, then. I’d prefer to think of it as a gift. For both of us.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “That’s true. Stupid turn of phrase. I’d like to give it, then.”

“And I would give the gift of knowledge in kind.” Hannibal replied with a small nod of agreement as he laced his fingers over one knee. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” she answered calmly, doing her level best, at least in that moment, to steadily hold his inky black gaze.

“You’re certain you wouldn’t rather it be someone else?”

“Who on earth would it be?” She asked with a snort of laughter.

“There’s no way to know if someone else won’t come along.” Hannibal said, with an incline of his head. “Someone your age. Someone-”

“There’s an equal chance that they will end up on the dinner table.” Abigail cut him off. “That seems… more than a little awkward. This is awkward enough already.” 

“That is quite true.” Hannibal acceded. 

“Something else about this is bugging you, then.” Abigail drew her arms tight around her waist. This is exactly what she had been hoping to avoid.

Hannibal rested his chin on his knuckles as he thought. “I had originally intended this, our physical relationship, to be an exercise in self discovery for you.”

“It certainly has been that.” she said, idly resting her hands on the back of the couch. “And I’ve appreciated it. In more ways than one.”

“As have I. And furthermore, I will freely admit that my intentions now are no longer as pure as they were at the outset.”

“Oh?” Abigail’s brow marched towards her hairline. “Oh. You mean…” All the nervous whirring in her brain stopped on a dime.

“I do, I’m afraid.” Hannibal actually managed to look contrite at the confession. The expression hung strangely on his features.

Abigail couldn’t help wondering if it all was an act. If he was toying with her. “But… that makes it easier on you, right? You’re not having to pretend?”

“Oh, Abigail.” Hannibal breathed her name as a smile curled his lips and bared his teeth. “I’ve never pretended. Rest assured. I may have feigned stoicism or calm, but I promise you that I’ve quite enjoyed myself. More than I had anticipated. And I would certainly enjoy being the first person to have sex with you, if that is still your desire.”

She swallowed so hard that her jaw actually clicked, before smartly crossing the room, setting aside his book and straddling his lap. Hannibal leaned back willingly into the chair to accommodate her, his strong hands gliding up her hips and onto the small of her back. She braced herself over him on the back of the chair and he stared up at her with his ever unreadable matte black gaze.

Abigail bit her lip, part for show and part in thought before she leaned down and whispered in his ear, her breath tickling out over the sensitive skin. “Tell me how you’ll do it.”

“However you want.” Came the expected answer.

“You told me how you’ve fantasized about killing me, but not how you’ve fantasized about having sex with me. I want to know how you want it.” He made to protest but she bravely silenced him with a kiss leaving him looking a little shocked at her forwardness. “Not how you think you should do it. But how you picture it. Because clearly you have.”

He gripped her hips and slid them firmly down onto his own. She could feel him swelling thick and hard between her legs. He leaned up and fairly purred against her maimed ear. “I want you on top of me. I want to see you using my body to explore yourself with abandon and wonder. And then I want to roll you onto your back and hold you while I lose myself in the warm clutch of your body, Abigail.”

Abigail was breathing hard when he finished talking. The sound of her name fairly growled against her throat punched all the air out of her lungs. “Yes. All of that.” was all the coherency she could manage.

“It’s too much for your firs-”

“I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Or if it hurts. You’ve taught me how to take care of myself and listen to my body. I’m ready.” she said firmly as she ground her hips down over the growing bulge between her legs. She watched with no small amount of satisfaction as he gripped the tops of her thighs and sucked in a labored breath. 

It could be an act, she thought briefly. He could be manipulating her. But he could be doing so in all things. 

“Take me to bed.” She whispered against the pulse jumping at his throat. “Please.”

Hannibal kissed her with infuriating tenderness, before he stood fluidly from the chair, balancing her in his arms. He carried her down the hallway to the bedroom they now shared and tossed her on the bed. He made almost premeditatedly quick work of stripping her down to her skin. When she was nude she sat forward wrapping her legs around him as she began to undo his buttons.

“Abigail, you should slow-”

“You won’t want to wait.” she replied breathlessly. “I don’t want you to have to.”

He let her strip him out of everything but his black boxer briefs before he pushed her gently back against the pillows. “Please, Abigail.” he whispered, cupping her cheek as he climbed on top of her. “Let me… make you ready for me. We’ll both enjoy it so much more.”

She nodded, suddenly dry-mouthed in the wake of his gentleness. He crouched down over her laying a trail of nibbling kisses down her stomach that made her jump and and shiver. When he pressed his open, wet mouth against the hot cleft between her legs and licked, it sent her arching off the bed with a ragged moan. He kissed her there, again and again, licking and sucking as if he might consume her.

He could… 

She found the thought through the haze of pleasure he was generously blanketing her with. He could consume her, and drag her into the abyss. And at this moment she might not even care.

Abigail felt his fingers skirting against her entrance as he tongued her clit in a slow, languorous rhythm. At first, he worked in circles over the opening but then he began to press gently inside. She jumped and hissed through her teeth before she could rein in the reaction. It hadn’t hurt exactly. Just felt a little strange. 

“It’s okay!” she said quickly when she felt him begin to pull his mouth away. Her assurance gained, he returned to the sinuous rhythm of his mouth over her clit and he began to press a single finger inside.

He went slow. So slow she thought she might burst with want before he got her anywhere. She wanted to thrust but he held her still with the palm of his hand over her stomach. “Easy.” he whispered. “Let me build it for you.”

She nodded shakily, collapsing back into the pillows. He curled the digit inside finding a sensitive spot that made stars brand her vision. 

“H-Hannibal...” she gasped.

Hannibal crawled up her body, wiping his reddened and slick mouth on his arm before settling over her. His hand between her legs never halted it incendiary caresses. “What is it, Abigail?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m okay.” she said again. “It’s… just a lot of… feeling. I feel…” he chose that moment to curl his finger against that spot again, sending her arching towards him with a high pitched moan. Her eyes screwed shut as all hope of language fled from her mind.

Hannibal teased her with a second finger, and she spread her legs wider in response. When it was worked inside he curled them both again. “I can do so much more for you this way, Abigail. Bring you to the edge and draw you away over and over before I ever let you fall the first time.”

“Hannibal!” his name tore itself from her mouth. “God, you’re… you’re going to make me come.” she whispered desperately.

“It’s alright. I don’t plan on being a tease just now.” he told her. “An orgasm will make sex easier.”

“Will it still feel good for you?” she asked, her brow furrowed with the difficulty of finding words.

His face split with a marvelling smile and he leaned down to kiss her. “You will feel amazing.”

“Will you… will you tell me how to make it good for you?” her voice was growing high and breathy as her climax built.

“In time.” he answered sincerely. “Right now, I want you to concentrate on what feels good to you. Does my hand feel good?”

Abigail nodded, her eyes cinching shut again. “So good…” she whispered, rolling her hips against his palm. “God, I’m so clo-” she didn’t get to finish the word before her orgasm crashed over her. She rode his hand, nails digging into his arm and his shoulder, as wave after wave of dazzling white ecstasy poured through her body.

She collapsed back onto the bed as Hannibal tucked her closer to him. “I want you.” she whispered into his collar bones, her hand finding the bulge in his underwear and stroking slowly. 

“You will have me.” he promised. “Are you ready? Or do you want another moment.”

She shook her head, her nose tickling against his chest hair. “I’m ready.”

“Just like we talked about then.” Hannibal said, pulling off his underwear and carefully pulling her astride him.

She gasped a little when his length brushed against the oversensitive wetness between her legs. He felt bigger than she had thought… blunt and hard. Hannibal hooked one hand behind her ruined ear, and reached between them to take himself in hand. All the while her eyes never leaving his face until he had the head of his cock barely breaching her pussy. She paused, nervously taking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Don’t push.” He councilled. “But don’t quail. Listen to your body, and take your time. I’m not going anywhere, Abigail.”

She gave a jerking nod before dropping her head and beginning to ease herself down. She moaned at the sensation. It felt like she was being split open. The stretch of his cock was uncomfortable, but she pressed until a pained noise found its way up her throat. Hannibal read it correctly, stilling her over him and cupping her cheek. He placed a hand over her hip and eased her back up.

“No…” she whispered, desperately. “I can do it. I don’t want to stop.”

“I know. I know, darling. You’re doing admirably.” Hannibal praised, stroking her cheekbone. “We aren’t stopping. Just follow me for a moment. Let me guide you.” He eased her up and down over his cock in a sinuous little dance that barely moved more than a few centimeters but had brilliant sparks of pleasure arcing low in her belly. But gradually, her body began to relax, taking in more of his cock each time.

Hannibal let out a held breath when she was fully seated on his length, reaching up to palm her breasts as she began to rock her body over him. She covered his hands with her own as she tried different motions, finding the ones that stung and the ones that sent shudders all the way out to her fingertips.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” he praised in a ragged whisper.

“Is this good?” she asked with the barest curl of a kittenish smile working its way to the surface of her roiling emotions. “I really don’t know… I’m just trying things.”

“Oh yes, Abigail.” he breathed, carding her hair out of her face. “Are you hurting?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head as a little spasm overtook her. “No, it’s just… a lot of sensation.”

“Do we need to stop?”

She shook her head even more furtively, “No Hannibal, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, darling, I won’t.” He whispered, as he gently toyed with one of her nipples, watching the way it made her bite her lip with rapt attention.

Tiny, helpless sounds found their way out of Abigail’s throat as she moved on him. Everything felt hot… fevered, slick, and oversensitive. She trembled in his hands, like a wild thing caught in a snare but too frightened to actually flee. Soon she was sagging over him, her hair spilling down over her shoulders and shadowing her face.

Her muscles shook with the effort of suspending her body weight, and she began to feel a little lightheaded. “Hannibal, God it’s just so much. Please… I… I want to lie down. Can I lie down?”

“Absolutely, dear.” Hannibal said, though he was already moving, bracing an arm behind her and gently rolling her off him. He couldn’t help the bereft groan that stole past his lips as his cock slipped free from the clutch of her body.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, but he silenced her with a kiss.

“No need to be sorry, Abigail.” He said pulling her close against him.

“I promise we aren’t done. I just… I need a minute.”

He only nodded, swallowing hard to wet his mouth. “As long as you’re alright, darling.”

She smiled up at him then, her breath still coming in shaky pants. “This must be frustrating for you.”

“Not at all.” He replied. “Not even if you wanted to stop right now.”

“Really?” She asked, wrinkling her nose in surprise.

“I admit, I might humbly request a moment to myself if you did not wish to continue. But no. I would be glad that you were brave. And proud that you respected your own limits.”

“I don’t want to stop.” She reiterated, curling her slim fingers around his sticky, throbbing shaft as if to further convince him. He hissed through his teeth as she slowly dragged her grip up and down his length. 

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice rough and his accent lying heavy on his tongue.

“I want the other part you mentioned earlier. Me on my back.” Her voice was steadier, but her breathing was still coming in soft pants.

“Give yourself just a moment longer.” Hannibal advised, his eyes hooded with pleasure as she stroked him. 

She nodded, and for emphasis took a long, even breath. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“How… How do I feel? To you, I mean. When you’re inside me?”

Hannibal gave a pleasured groan, half in response to the memory and half in answer to the continued attention from her delicate hand over his cock. “It’s honestly difficult to describe.”

“You and all your words and you can’t even try?”

He laughed, cradling her closer. “You are a wonder beyond words, Abigail. Tell me then, how does it feel to you?”

“You feel… imposing at first. Heavy and… intrusive? But I… I want you there. I just I want to fold up around you and just… hold on.” She found herself kissing his neck between words as she pulled at his shoulders. “Can… can we try it with you on top?”

“Yes please.” He replied as he helped to arrange her on her back. “Hands on my hips,” he instructed as he laid down between her legs. “This angle is a little gentler, but you will have less control so tell me if something is uncomfortable.”

She nodded as her palms slid down his sweaty flanks and rested against the divots at the base of his spine. She let him tuck her knees up by his sides, spreading her open as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Are you ready?”

She gave a needy little moan and nodded. When he breached her a second time, she felt no pain. No discomfort. Only a wonderfully slippery pressure that built and built. She wanted to pull at his hips, drag him deeper, but she let him keep his steady pace.

“Ah God…” she groaned when he bottomed out. “That feels so good.”

“It does… oh it does, Abigail.” Hannibal whispered against her kiss-swollen lips. “I want to move. Can I move?”

“Yes… yes please…” she replied between the wet open-mouthed kisses she was laying against his throat.

Hannibal curled his hips forward, pressing deeper before dragging his cock out of her at an excruciatingly slow pace. She moaned with each loss, fingers vainly trying to find purchase on his hips before he thrust back inside. Before long she was lying limply back against the pillows as he took her, with infinite gentleness and care.

“I want to come…” she whispered. 

“Can you like this?”

“I… don’t know. It almost… almost feels like enough but…”

“Sometimes women don’t climax their first time. Everything is sore and oversensitive. I can take care of you another way, if you wish.”

“No… no…: she groaned thickly. “I want you inside me. It’s… the angle? I think?”

“Let me try something.” Hannibal pulled back and quickly helped her slide a pillow under her hips. Then he was back inside, thrusting with the same slow, insistent rhythm.

The change of angle did the trick, forcing his cock against that wonderfully sensitive place his fingers had found earlier. Thin, high moans shook loose from Abigail’s throat as each thrust had him sliding past it. Suddenly, she found herself on the precipice again.

“I’m close, Hannibal.” she whimpered. “So close, please…”

“I have you.”

“Come with me…”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes… oh yes… yes…” The litany of half formed affirmations spilled from her lips as she rode the edge of her pleasure. She felt his thrusts become erratic as his grip bruised her shoulder and then a moment later, she felt him explode inside her with a hot rush that dragged her over the edge as well. She held on with hands and legs as he drove himself impossibly deep. She wailed his name as white light blossomed over her vision, and pleasure cascaded through her limbs in a warm, tingling rush. 

They collapsed together against the pillows, Hannibal just barely able to hold himself above her on trembling arms.

“Was… was I good?” she asked, her voice breathy and small as she searched his face through the haze of her own pleasure.

Hannibal smiled down at her, tucking a tangled, sweaty lock of hair over her ear. “Wonderful.” he replied, kissing her softly on the lips.

“I meant what I said. About wanting to know how to make it… enjoyable for you.”

“And I meant what I said. In time. I wanted this to be about you, and that is still my intention. Your first time should be empowering. Enlightening. There is time for everything else.”

“Thank you, for that. For… everything. It was a lot less scary than I thought it would be.”

“No need to thank me. It was truly a pleasure. One I hope to repeat, if you are amiable.”

“Oh I’m quite amiable. We’ll probably have to wait a bit though.” she said, sliding one leg down and wincing at the hitherto unnoticed cramp in her hip. “I’m going to be sore, I bet.”

“You will be, yes. Most women are after their first time.” he answered, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead. “When you feel like standing, a hot bath might be in order to help with that.”

She smiled up at him again, her dimple making another appearance. “Will you join me?”

“I was hoping you would ask.” Hannibal replied, bumping their noses together.

“Not just yet though.” she said, snugging her arms around him. 

He bracketed her shoulders with his forearms as he played with her hair. “Whenever you’re ready, Abigail.”

Several quiet moments passed, punctuated by lazy kisses and trailing fingers. At length, Abigail spoke, a small frown puckering her brow.

“Will it be like this when you do whatever it is you’re going to do to clear Will’s name?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… will we still do this sometimes? You and I, once he’s here? Is… Will going to be involved?”

Hannibal’s lips pursed into his thoughtful pout as he wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “I suppose the answer to both those questions is up to you.” he replied. “I admit that I hadn’t anticipated such a habitual turn of events in our case, though I am not unhappy at its occurrence. As far as you and I are concerned, I’m happy to continue if you so desire. And as for Will’s involvement. Well, that will be up to the two of you.”

Abigail’s gaze focused where her hand trailed through Hannibal’s chest hair. “He’s never… seemed attracted to me.”

“Sexually speaking that is not untrue.” he said, pulling her a little closer. “I’d hazard a guess to say that what he felt for you was more paternal and familial than sexual. But much has happened to both of you in the past several months. But rest assured that one way or the other,” he paused to press a kiss into her hairline. “Your life will be a gift to him, Abigail.”

There it was again. Her name. She closed her eyes and smiled, burrowing down into the pillows and imagining Will saying it when he saw her for the first time again. The look on his face. The disbelief. The wonder. And then… then he would smile. She was certain he would smile. And she and Hannibal could welcome him into this little world they had made, and the house would no longer ache with his absence.


	9. Whatever Sin it Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s wrong?” she asked her face drawing up in a concerned frown.
> 
> He turned but didn’t answer. She could see the hollow shadows under his eyes, and the gaunt, pale set of his face. He looked beyond tired. Beyond exhausted. He looked… wounded.
> 
> Then Abigail’s eyes fell to the white bandages around his wrists that peeked out from the cuffs of the sweater. And the line of bruises that flowered on his neck and she started for him almost without thinking.
> 
> “Hannibal.” she breathed his name. “What happened to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Apologies for being a little late with this chapter. The production I was working on at a local artist enclave turned out to be a much more exciting and involved affair than I'd previously thought. Which was good for the dance company I work for, but sadly it was bad for my posting schedule. So humblest apologies!
> 
> This chapter is very NSFW and contains spoilers for Season 2 as well as Abigail's arc across all three seasons.
> 
> Only one more chapter to go! Thank you all so much for reading and sending me sweet comments! You guys give me life.
> 
> Enjoy!

The weeks continued to flitter by, and Abigail barely marked them. Her weekdays continued to be spent in studious solitude. She steadily gained ground at the piano, and became more and more comfortable with the Italian language. So much so that she found the best way to practice was to talk to herself in Italian. Fluency came by leaps and bounds after, even if the syllables still felt a touch clumsy on her tongue.

Hannibal had taken to bringing her presents when he arrived. A book. Weathered copies of sheet music. Some interesting sounding fruit preserves with a strange spice called “grains of paradise.” It was by turns fatherly and intimate as she would scamper to meet him, squeak at the presents he proffered, and tip her head back to meet the kiss that always followed.

But one Friday, his homecoming was different. And Abigail knew from the instant he stepped across the threshold that something was wrong.

He was late for one thing. Late without calling, which was unheard of up til now. She actually ate dinner by herself, thanking her stars that she’d made stew that could be easily reheated. But as the soft blue of the sky faded to its star-studded black, a cold knot of worry began to twist in her gut. And it wasn’t alleviated when she heard the click of the lock, but no sweet call of her name.

She scurried into the foyer to see Hannibal closing the door. His back was to her but she could already see her worries confirmed in his appearance alone. The sagging set of his shoulders under the casual cable knit sweater. The loose curl of his hand around his coat. His slow shuffling steps on the hardwood.

“What’s wrong?” she asked her face drawing up in a concerned frown.

He turned but didn’t answer. She could see the hollow shadows under his eyes, and the gaunt, pale set of his face. He looked beyond tired. Beyond exhausted. He looked… wounded.

Then Abigail’s eyes fell to the white bandages around his wrists that peeked out from the cuffs of the sweater. And the line of bruises that flowered on his neck and she started for him almost without thinking.

“Hannibal.” she breathed his name. “What happened to you?”

“I’m fine.” he said his voice gruff and flat. “I…”

His rebuff didn’t stop her, and when she was close enough, she could see his eyes reddened by tears. She thought her heart might stop beating.

Abigail closed the distance between them, kissing him gently on both cheeks and then leading him by the hand to the living room.

“I’m fine.” he reiterated.

“Bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re hurt.” Abigail rebuffed.

“I will be fine.” he amended with a tired smile.

“I made dinner.” she offered half-heartedly.

“I’m not hungry.” came the expected reply, though he still smiled weakly at her kindness.

“I didn’t think so. Sit, then.” she said, helping him lower himself onto the couch. “I’ll make tea.”

He looked up at her, eyes shining in the dim light. “Thank you, darling.”

As she made the tea, she watched Hannibal slouching in the chair. She wondered what on Earth could have happened to him. Another attack from a patient? Surely someone hadn’t been stupid enough to try and mug him. What if something had happened to Will in the hospital? Surely not…

And then only one thought struck her mind. Whatever had happened… whatever was ailing Hannibal’s heart, it was her turn to act as balm and council. Hannibal had taken such good care of her. Guided her. Consoled her. Cared for her. The favor should be returned. Only it wasn’t a favor. It was her own love answering his call. He needed her. He had come to her when he could have gone elsewhere. 

She brought him his tea and he murmured his thanks as she knelt in front of him.

“What happened, Hannibal?” she asked, resting her palms on the tops of his thighs.

Hannibal was a long time in answering. Instead, he stirred his tea, fiddled with the tape on his bandages, and skated his thumbs over Abigail’s knuckles as if he were memorizing their texture. When he finally inhaled to speak, two fresh tears dropped down his smooth cheeks to soak into the fabric of the crimson sweater. Darkened to the color of blood, she noted absently.

“Will Graham made an attempt on my life.” he said in a hideously broken voice.

“He… he tried to kill you?” Abigail asked incredulously. “But… but how? He’s still locked up, isn’t he?”

Hannibal swallowed thickly as he moved to wipe his face. “Yes, he is still incarcerated. He won the ear of an orderly and somehow convinced him to try to kill me.”

“What… what happened- wait. You don’t have to tell me.” she caught herself but not before most of the question escaped her. “You probably don’t want to talk about it.”

He gave a tight lipped and nearly imperceptible shake of his head before he spoke. “The orderly drugged me, tied my arms to a length of wood, put a noose around my neck and stood me on a bucket. Then he slit my wrists to allow me to slowly bleed to death. Assuming that I didn’t decide to end my life of my own accord.”

The shock of it smote upon Abigail’s psyche so that she had to stand and pace. Her hands combed frantically through her hair as she moved back and forth in front of Hannibal’s chair. “But. It was the orderly? Do you know for sure that Will-” 

“Oh without the least shadow of doubt.” Hannibal replied, a fresh fall of tears streaking down his cheeks. “The orderly told me so. And Will more or less admitted to it to Jack Crawford at the FBI.”

“But…” she turned to him with a helpless look that he matched before looking away. “When was this?”

“Yesterday evening.” he replied wearily. “I was kept in the hospital overnight for observation and released just this morning. I gave my statement to the police, saw to clearing my schedule for the next week at least, and drove straight here.” He paused to give a small cough of humorless laughter. “I didn’t even pack a bag.”

Abigail could see it now, as if a blinding floodlight had been shone upon the matter. Hannibal truly was in love with Will Graham. She’d been aware of it at the fringes of her mind. The way he talked about Will but didn’t talk about him, like he was some treasured secret to be carefully guarded. Precious and all consuming…

That’s what this was all about. Hannibal wasn’t traumatized by his brush with death. Doubtless it was not his first. What he was… heartbroken.

Abigail braced herself, expecting a flood of rejection and jealousy to crush her heart, but it never came. Even as Hannibal bared these things, he kept her close. He had come to her. Almost as soon as he could. Instead of bitterness, she felt responsibility toward Hannibal now. And anger towards Will. Hannibal had wanted the three of them to be a family, and it seemed Will had all but destroyed that dream. 

She knelt again by his knee. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I didn’t mean to ask so many questions.”

“It’s alright, Abigail.” he said, taking her hand in his and winding their fingers together. “I’m sure it was a shock to you.”

“To me? He tried to kill you.” she exclaimed. “Why would he do that?”

“I fear this has taken a more dangerous turn than I had anticipated.” Hannibal replied watching his fingers twine and slide around Abigail’s slender hand. “Will knows, Abigail. Not about you, but about me. He’s seen me clearly now that I’m no longer a direct influence on him, and thus he has seen the truth of himself as well. It has frightened him, but he chose to embrace it in order to take revenge against me. And…” he trailed off, licking his bottom lip slowly as fresh tears fountained down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Abigail’s hands worked nervously under his for a moment. “You said you’re not hungry?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance out over the churning Atlantic.

She pressed her lips together and watched him for a moment before she stood, taking his tea from him. “Come on.” she said extending a hand to him. “Come with me”

He followed her with surprising ease. She paused in the bedroom to skim out of her sweater and kick off her shoes and then she led Hannibal to the master bath, where sat what she had discovered to be her favorite feature in the house. 

The jacuzzi tub.

As she set the basin to fill, Abigail carefully and slowly helped Hannibal undress, all the while doing her best to hide her discomfort at how unsettled and sluggish he seemed. Not from pain medication, or physical tiredness, but a clear and saturating exhaustion of his very being. He allowed himself to be moved and undressed down to his skin, as passive as a lamb. 

“I’m assuming these can’t get wet.” Abigail said, taking one of his forearms in her hand and examining the white bandage taped over his wrist.

“That would be best, but you can remove the dressing. It will need to be changed before we retire. I will show you how. Will you help me?”

Abigail nodded, curling her fingers under the cloth tape and pulling it free with as little force as she could muster. She had to swallow hard against a gasp as the gauze peeled back to reveal a neat line of black sutures marching halfway up his forearm. Summoning all her stoicism to her face, she removed the second bandage and then helped Hannibal lower himself into the tub.

“This can’t be easy for you.” Hannibal said softly.

“I’m okay.” She replied in an almost automated tone. She was okay in that moment. She wasn’t thinking about how she nearly lost her only companion in this world. Her only family. She wasn’t thinking about how furious she was at Will Graham for trying to take him from her. She allowed herself to focus only on the task before her. Of comforting and caring for Hannibal, who had come to her out of all the other places he could have undoubtedly gone.

“Come into the tub with me, Abigail.” Hannibal said, a soft light twinkling in his sad eyes. 

“I was sort of hoping you would ask, but I wasn’t going to impose.” Abigail stood and shed the rest of her clothes before carefully climbing into the tub. He eased her down astride his lap before letting his hands fall down over the sides of the tub again. Abigail smoothed her hands up his chest, twining her wet fingers through his silvered chest hair.

She could feel some of the tension in his body give as she relaxed over him. “Your body on mine is never an imposition, Abigail. Never.”

She smiled at that. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help.” She murmured over the gurgling of the bubble jets.

Hannibal smiled a little, leaning up to capture her lips with his own. “This is what I needed, I think.” He sighed, dropping back against the porcelain. “Space to think. And be comfortable. And you.”

She smiled a little in turn.

“Will you let me make love to you tonight, Abigail?” he asked, a sweet smile curling on the ample curve of his mouth.

“Of course.” She replied, hastily adding, “It wasn’t my intention when I got you undressed but if it’s what you want, I certainly won’t complain.”

He gave her a sweet, watery smile then. “Kiss me again.” He whispered, leaning forward.

She pressed their mouths together in a searing, open-mouthed moment of incandescence. Her hands found their way down into the water to his cock, already thickening at the prospect of what was to come. She stroked him with both hands, eventually sliding one down to cup his balls as he thrust towards her touch.

“Ah, Abigail darling… I want to feel your body on mine…” he groaned.

“I… I’ll have to go slow.” She said, even as she began to edge her hips forward. 

“Whatever you need, dear one. Do you need a moment, since…”

“No… no, I want to do it this way.”

He sighed audibly, a relieved and pleasured smile cracking across his face. “Then so do I.”

Abigail did have to work him in slowly, as much as she didn’t want to. She could feel she was tight despite the slickness already present, but all she wanted to do was sink down, pain be damned. But he seemed more than content to let her please him at the pace that made her comfortable. Patient has he had ever been as she split herself open on his length.

He lay back, arms draped limply over the edges of the tub to keep his stitches dry. As she began to move her hips in long, languid motions, his head lolled back, and a placid ecstasy suffusing his features and washing away all the traces of his sorrow. The sight of him so at rest… so surrendered made her heart threaten to crack.

Abigail cradled him to her as much as she could as she rolled her body over his. She rubbed her face in his chest hair, licked the drops of water that had collected on his collarbones, and caressed every part of him she could reach. She wanted to smooth it all away. All the pain and heartbreak… as if she had convinced herself that somehow she could remove it physically from his form.

“Oh, Abigail,” Hannibal sighed, bringing one hand up to card through her hair. Instinctively, she turned her face into the touch, her cheek scratching across the rough ends of the stitches. Her eyes flew open, and mercifully no pain showed on his face. She leaned into his hand then, kissing the skin to either side of the sutures, wishing with all her might that her kisses were all the balm he needed.

“Abigail,” her name drew her eyes to his face. “Oh, darling does this feel good to you?”

She closed her eyes and nodded, her cheek tucked into the hollow of his palm. “Are you?”

“Oh yes… oh yes…” he breathed, his arms dropping down over the rim of the tub again. His eyes had turned soft and unfocused as she picked up the pace of her thrusting. 

For a moment, bereft of his touch, she wanted his help. He always brought himself to climax, shuddering and moaning over her, but she could feel it building. Feel his body tightening under hers. She flattened her palms against his chest, feeling the heat of her own orgasm building low in her core. She’d learned how to coax her pleasure out… to fan it, and feed it so that when she came, it was no longer just a brilliant flash of light, but a bonfire that roared for a small eternity under her skin.

She shouted Hannibal’s name when she came, her voice echoing slightly off the tile walls. The fire gave way to a languid, liquid pleasure that she teased out, still rolling her hips as he fell over the precipice of his own climax. He moaned her name when he came. It almost sounded pious in its reverence.

Abigail curled herself over him as they wound down together. They both lay there, surrounded by the soft sounds of the bubbles and their own breath. How long they languished there was only marked by the steady drop of the water temperature.

She shifted over him, giving a little shiver. “Come on. I’m cold.” She said, standing on stiffened legs with a wince. She clambered gracelessly out of the water, and pulled the plug on the drain before helping Hannibal to stand. She helped him to dry himself and then drug him to bed, both of them still naked.

“Oh, your stitches.” Abigail said, dully, pausing at the edge of the bed.

“They will be fine until morning.” Hannibal assured her. “Come here.”

“Do you need your pain meds or-”

“I need you, Abigail.”

She went to him then and nothing could have stopped her. The posts of their bed could have been the gates of Hell and she wouldn’t have paused. Hannibal pillowed her head against his shoulder, winding a damp lock of her hair around his finger as he often did when he drifted off to sleep. Abigail sank into the sensation of his body next to hers. The pillows were soft. The sheets whispered over her skin. And he was solid next to her. An anchor point. Maybe she was for him too.

They were quiet for a long time, and she thought he had drifted off, but he spoke suddenly into the dark.

“We will be a family, Abigail.” He said, his voice quiet and rough. “I promise you. I’m building a beautiful world for the three of us and we will be there together. Whole, and hale, and happy. It will just take more time.”

She propped her chin up on his chest and smiled at him before he leaned down to kiss her.

She believed him. Not because she had no choice. Or because she didn’t know what else to do. She believed because she wanted it. Maybe that’s what he’d taught her how to do… more than anything else. It had all been more than teaching her about cooking, or piano, or Italian… or even the sex.

Hannibal had taught her how to want.


	10. Show Them a Stony Heart and Sink Them With It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone rang and Hannibal answered it. It was Will Graham’s voice on the end of the line.
> 
> “They know.” Will said.
> 
> As he held the phone to his ear and listened to Will’s labored breathing, Hannibal stared at Abigail. The greater part of the sting of the anticipated betrayal had passed, or so he told himself. And this phone call clenched it. Will had thrown him to the dogs at the FBI, and they would be coming soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The final chapter of this fic!
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for leaving such lovely comments and feedback. I've had so much fun sharing this with all of you. This is getting a sequel of sorts, and when it's posted here I'll also post it on my Tumblr which is littlethingwithfeathers.
> 
> Enjoy! And thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.

As the humidity of spring began to saturate the air, Hannibal elected to bring Abigail back to Baltimore, with the promise that Will Graham would soon be joining them. He would see her again, and then they would flee the States together. But the days had turned to weeks, and the trees had fully flowered and greened. Hannibal could see that it was getting harder and harder for Abigail not to be impatient.

But one day, he came home with a stern gleam in his inky black eyes, and announced that they would make their escape that very night. All three of them. Abigail tried very hard not to be too giddy and distracted as she helped Hannibal prepare their final supper in that house. But she couldn’t help but ask excited questions about their plans.

“Tell me where we’ll go after Venice, Hannibal.” she asked, her smile puckering the sweet little dimple on her cheek.

Hannibal reflected it back to her, unreserved and blithe. “Where would you like to go?”

“We’ll have already gone to the only place on my list.” she replied, as she halved the pepper she was working on to get at the seeds. “Where do you think Will is going to want to go next? I guess it would be his turn to pick.”

Hannibal’s capacious mouth pouted in thought. “I suppose so.” he answered. “I think I’d like to take him to Vienna. Both of you actually. We could live in high style there. Opera. Galas. I would love to see you both in resplendent formal wear. In my opinion, the ateliers there are not to be matched.”

Abigail fairly giggled with glee as she gave her shoulders an excited wiggle, and Hannibal reflected her mirth without restraint. She may be his beautiful, cunning prodigy, but she was still a lovely, lively eighteen year old girl who loved to dress up. 

The phone rang and Hannibal answered it. It was Will Graham’s voice on the end of the line.

“They know.” Will said.

As he held the phone to his ear and listened to Will’s labored breathing, Hannibal stared at Abigail. The greater part of the sting of the anticipated betrayal had passed, or so he told himself. And this phone call clenched it. Will had thrown him to the dogs at the FBI, and they would be coming soon. 

Hannibal could already feel the tumblers in his mind turning. Packing each emotion away in preparation of what was to come, and sweeping from his mind any and all compassion or love he felt for this girl in front of him. Like cleaning a room after company. Setting it to rights as if visitors had never come at all.

“They are coming.” He said when he had hung up, his tone betraying none of the emotions that had momentarily seethed within him.

Abigail mirrored his calm, though with far less aptitude. “Are we going?” She asked.

He hesitated a moment, wanting to be sure of his intentions. “We are waiting for Will. It’s important that he sees you. I want the two of you to be together.”

Panic began to bleed through her voice. “They’ll catch us if we stay.” She hissed.

“I’m on my honor to look after you, Abigail.” Hannibal answered, his voice very pointed and direct. “You have to look after me too. We have to protect each other in these new lives we create.” He paused again, thinking. Perhaps Jack might not come alone. Best to be prepared. She might be the ace up his sleeve in more ways than one tonight. “I want you to go upstairs and wait.”

“For what?” She asked tightly.

“Hunting with your father was the best time you ever had. Now you’re going to hunt with me.” He replied, his dark eyes glittering.

She seemed to weigh his instructions, then nodded and turned to go.

In the instant before she left, Hannibal’s vision changed and time rocked back on its heels for the briefest moment. He saw Abigail as an elegant, piously posed statue in the most recently added room in his memory palace that he had built especially for her. Her youthful face beatific, and her palms turned up as they had been when she’d ascended the stairs of her house, fingers dripping with Nicholas Boyle’s blood. In his mind, she was wrapped in the golden light of her beautiful shrine in the Basilica dei Frari in Venice… supplicant and sweet. Preserved down to the last detail. Even the dimple on her cheek.

He would have her always, he thought icily. Even if Will would not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... I have a weird addiction to writing tragic fic that's bracketed in canon. So it was always my intention to have this play out to the canonical ending. That last paragraph is actually one of the first things I wrote on this story.
> 
> BUT! That being said... I also made myself have a sad. This was a far sweeter and healthier relationship than I had originally set out to write, so I can't leave it alone. I'm currently working on a fix-it fic of sorts that picks up with an alternate timeline beginning at the sacrificial lamb dinner. So we will get Murder!Family threesome-y goodness. But it may be awhile... it's only about half done, and still very much a rough draft. It will likely be well into July before the first chapters see the light of the internet. But if you're interested, keep an eye on my Tumblr and on here.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading. All your kudos and comments never failed to make me smile. Much love always!


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